


Empirical Evidence of Fate

by lisaroquin



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-01 16:20:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 69,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4026667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisaroquin/pseuds/lisaroquin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting married on a drunken dare made perfect sense when they'd gotten together over an equally drunken bet, especially when almost everyone that mattered, who knew about them, was there when Ian's brother issued the dare. They'd been to hell and back a few times, separately and together, they still had one more issue looming. Don and Alan have absolutely no clue they've even met let alone have been together for sixteen years. Oh and a serial sniper with a boatload of copycats to get out of the way first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Initial Data, Spring Break 1989, Miami, Florida

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hannahcarrietta](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=hannahcarrietta).



> **Prompt for the auction from Hannahcarrietta:** _Ian knows it drives Charlie crazy when he pretends that he's skeptical of Charlie's math being helpful but it's the perfect way to tease his husband/lover/partner when he meets his brother-in-law Don for the first time on the sniper case season one._ I almost got it? This has decided to be brain eating and going far longer and angstier than intended but the heart of the prompt is still in all this.
> 
>  
> 
> **Authors Note:** Being posted as WIP but posting should go very quickly and be wrapped up within a week, two at the very most if life explodes again, but I promised something by the end of May, so here's the start. Warnings posted by chapter notes.
> 
>  
> 
> **  
> **  
> Timeline & real world notes: Numb3rs started in 2005, I'm setting Sniper Zero June 2005, For the sake of argument, I'm putting Charlie's bday March 1972, Don Sept 1967, Ian Jul 1962 which makes Charlie 33, Don 37 and Ian 42, almost 43, for Sniper Zero and at least in the realm of canonish age wise. Runs pre-canon through Sniper Zero. Charlie 17 and Ian 26 when they meet.  
> Played fast and loose with rodeo championships a bit, though they're in the right place and mostly right time frame for NFR (December, Vegas) PBR is also Vegas though in October. 
> 
>  
> 
> **  
> **  
> ****Warnings for this chapter** : unwitting underage- mildly graphic and mostly glossed over. Charlie is 17, Ian doesn't realize that. Mutually drunken hookup- putting that rather than impaired consent, they're on mostly equal footing on that count and both of them set out to get drunk and laid for the night so... This falls under 'damn I can't believe I did that, that was fun' rather than the taking advantage impaired consent implies. To me there is a line and a major difference, but there you go. Top!/Aggressor!Charlie**  
> 

**Initial Data, Spring Break 1989, Miami, Florida**

 

Miami Beach was over ran with drunken undergrads that were making him feel old even if at twenty-six, he wasn’t. He’d gotten Sandoz brought in, turned over to the Miami office and thirty-six hours until he could get a flight to DC. He could drive to Virginia, to Quantico in that time with hours to spare. He didn’t particularly want to. A day off by way of flights bloated with Spring Breakers coming and going, was too good to pass up. His head was still scrambled from the Carson case, three cases, fourteen bodies, five weeks and what at least felt like six hundred thousand miles ago. He hated cases with kids.

 

The age in his eyes, and the way he moved that betrayed his training, betrayed him as something else among the spring breakers. On pure looks, he looked no older than the vast majority of them and looked younger than probably a full quarter or more. 

 

He had thirty six hours, which included two nights. It was almost 9PM, his flight was 9AM day after tomorrow. He actually had a hotel room, Miami’s Bureau office had pulled a few strings on that since he was ‘stuck’ for thirty-six. He checked in, showered, threw on his oldest pair of jeans, a black tank top and his running shoes out of his go bag. He didn’t have any shorts which seemed to be the outfit of choice for spring break, with or without a t-shirt, and the shrapnel scar on his thigh would get attention. He didn’t want attention, he wanted to get wasted, and with luck, get laid.

*

The club was perfect. The music was loud, the dance floor looked like a sweaty half clothed orgy, half of it nothing more than frottage to a pounding techno beat. If he hadn’t been horny before, he sure as hell was now just watching the dancing. It had been too long, way too long.

 

He stood at the bar and slammed back his fifth tequila shot, trying to relax, trying to put the last few cases and crime scenes out of his mind, trying to get drunk enough to dance when he was wired and ready to snap over being unarmed, all his guns left behind in the hotel room. All he’d managed was a buzz that had him winding up tighter, suspicious, guard up worse than ever because he knew he was buzzed and inching past buzzed.

 

Fingertips, light, questioning and cautious on his ribs, alerting him to the body standing behind him. Fingertips turned to fingers lightly tracing along his ribs, hands moving to his chest, body behind him moving closer, then pressed up against him. Short, lean, stretched up, almost climbing him, chin painful on the back half of his shoulder, thumb scraped over his nipple through the cloth of his tank top, hips pressed hard against his ass.

 

“We got a bet.”

 

“What’s the bet?”

 

“Me, getting you into bed. Got a thousand riding on it. As appealing as taking Marshall’s money is, I want to fuck that ass of yours even more. You’ve got an amazing ass.”

 

There was something to be said for drunk college kids, they’d say anything and were too drunk and stupid to have any shame, fear, or even goddamned common sense.

 

He waved at the bartender and held up four fingers. Four shots of tequila were brought over and quickly paid for. Three for him, one for the very nice already well liquored body behind him.

 

“One for you.”

 

“Mmm thank you.” Somehow the very nice body behind him managed to wriggle in between him and the bar he was standing at. Dark curly hair, shaggy and every which way, dark eyes, thick scruff of a few days laziness not quite beard. The scruff-not-quite-at-the-tipping point of being called a beard about the only thing keeping him from looking fifteen he had such a baby face.

 

The slither against him was pure demand as the guy twisted enough to grab one of the shot glasses and down it.

 

“You are way too tense.” 

 

“It’s been a long fucking month,” he said flatly and reached for a shooter for himself and down it, and a second in rapid succession. He grabbed for the third. He could well imagine what either of his parents, or worse his grandmother and the General might have to say about the amount it took to get him relaxed and feeling fine rather than wound up mildly buzzed.

 

Chocolate brown eyes narrowed at him.

 

“Work.”

 

“Not a Spring Break partier then.”

 

He snorted and shook his head. He hadn’t done that even when he was an age to, he was in the army working on his classes independent study at odd hours to get a Bachelor’s required for Quantico. “You legal for that drink?” he frowned.

 

The guy laughed. “Working on my doctoral thesis, what do you think?”

 

No matter how young he did look, the scruff was dense and heavy combined with claims of doctoral thesis…”Subject?”

 

“Math.”

 

“Where at?”

 

“Princeton.” Was grinned up at him “What do you do that you had such a bad month?”

 

He looked at the kid and sighed. “FBI, Fugitive retrieval.”

 

Laughing brown eyes dimmed and darkened, a heavy breath drawn. “That could make for a really shitty month.”

 

“It did.” He snorted. “This the part where you run?”

 

“No, this is the part where I ask if you have an apartment or hotel here.”

 

“Hotel.”

 

“Room all to yourself?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then we tell Marshall and Larry we’re going to your room and go.”

 

“Your buddies are Marshall and Larry, what’s your name?”

 

“Charlie.”

 

He smiled. Somehow it suited, and damn maybe the last shot was a poor idea. “I’m Ian.”

 

Marshall almost made him check IDs. Skinny and starved-puppy clumsy with acne and at least a nervous stammer, maybe partially the fact the kid was smashed as all hell. 

 

“Oh good heavens, Charles…” the other at the table shook his head. God awful Hawaiian shirt and curly blond hair, and at least somewhere in his thirties.

 

“You said you weren’t playing babysitter this trip, Larry.”

 

“I’m not…” Larry frowned.

 

Ian wanted to laugh. The drunk pimply faced kid who would probably be decent looking once he actually grew up absolutely needed a babysitter and it seemed Larry knew it.

 

“I’m due at the airport, six AM day after tomorrow.” Ian offered, not quite asking permission to keep the pretty little thing til then.

 

“I think Marshall might have recovered from his hangover by then, fine, off with you, Charles, you have condoms?”

 

“Yes, mother.”

 

Larry gave Charlie a pissy look. “Lube. And the good Mrs. Eppes just might kill me for this.”

 

“Have to pick some up on the way to the hotel.” Ian answered.

 

“Not fair. Not fair Eppesie always fucking gets everything,” the drunk Marshall whined.

 

“And he gets a thousand dollars. I’m carrying the bet contract, I’ll remind you when you sober up, Mr. Penfield.”

 

“Why the fuck did we go on Spring Break with him, Eppesie?”

 

“Because Larry is cool and a friend.”

 

“I’ve been their faculty advisor since they began their undergraduate studies. I’ve been on sabbatical this year working on a research project. A reunion of old friends, albeit one with too much sand and mostly undressed drunken undergrads. Next fall I return to being their professor and getting to oversee their final work for their doctorates.”

 

Ian smiled. “Sergeant of the team I was on when I was in the Army is like that. We’ll get together for a few beers, he’ll still bark orders like I’m still the green kid fresh out of boot that got dumped on him.”

 

“These two were a bit younger than the usual students when I got assigned them. Charles’ mother relocated coasts to be near just in case, and somehow adopted myself and Marshall as well.”

 

Ian wanted to laugh at that not so veiled and slightly slurred warning from what seemed to be honorary big brother/mentor. “You’ll get him back in one piece and no worse for the wear.”

 

“Just so we understand each other.”

 

“Oh god, Larry, quit.”

 

Larry gave a dramatic sigh. “Fine, off with you, Charles, do endeavor not to need the money you’ve just won for bail during your drunken debauchery. Shoo. Someone should enjoy this experiment in post-adolescent inebriation rituals. Shoo shoo shoo!” the last punctuated with little flaps of his hand. “If you vomit on me, Marshall, I’ll see you tutoring freshmen remedial mathematics!”

 

“We’re shooing!” Charlie laughed and grabbed Ian’s hand pulling him through the club and outside.

 

“Uhm, sorry about Larry.”

 

Ian smiled and shook his head. “Not a problem.”

 

Charlie gave him a doubtful look.

 

“Math? What’s so interesting about math?” Ian asked.

 

“You did not just say that…” Charlie huffed. The awkward worry realizing how his friends might come across or simply how his friends might be perceived lost in annoyance.

 

Ian smiled. “Yes, I did.”

 

Charlie gave him narrowed eyed look.

 

“After the last few cases, conversation that doesn’t involve a case would be almost as good as sex, really prefer the sex but that isn’t happening on the street. So what’s so interesting about math of all things?”

 

Charlie stared for a moment more than grinned. “Math is everywhere…”

 

“Really?” Ian chuckled.

 

“You use it, constantly every day!”

 

“Oh really?” Ian tensed at that. He did. Trajectories, angles, wind direction and speed, muzzle drag. Estimation of a corpse’s temp and progression of rigor mortis giving a vague idea how far ahead of him his prey was without waiting for an autopsy…

 

“Yes.”

 

“How?”

 

“Money, time, calendars, phone numbers,” he was off on a mini rant that had nothing to do with trajectories and muzzle drag. Ian relaxed, and chuckled as the animated carrying on didn’t stop when they ducked into a gas station convenience store, that simply by virtue of where it was located near a cluster of gay and drag clubs, had a rather impressive small selection of massage oils, lubes and condoms, of which Charlie picked out several.

 

Ian was chuckling both at Charlie’s babble and the poor clerk who was staring in disbelief and possibly one hand reaching for a silent alarm as Charlie started explaining the math and physics of the workings of the cash register.

 

Never in his life had he seen someone so animated over _math_ of all things. Ian was also almost certain Charlie hadn’t bought a single drink of his that night. Marshall definitely hadn’t. They might have coughed up the cash but Larry was the only one that actually bought the drinks. Ian was sure of that. He decided he didn’t give a damn if the shot he’d bought and Charlie downed was legal or not. He wasn’t going to ask. Not like he was going to see the guy again, it didn’t matter.

 

“You are so tense,” Charlie murmured as Ian hooked the chain on the hotel room door. Ian found himself caught in the intense stare of chocolate colored eyes that…he could almost see the numbers spinning behind those eyes.

 

“You got a mathematical formula for sex too?”

 

“Still researching that one.”

 

Ian burst out laughing. “Need more data, huh?”

 

“Lot more. And you are way too tense, that’s easy to calculate what’s going to work.”

 

Ian found himself pushed against the door and Charlie on his knees in front of him, one of the flavored condoms torn out of the box and not too much later on his dick, followed by Charlie’s mouth. Maybe a bit more enthusiasm than skill, but damn that felt good. Ian sunk his fingers into the dark curls on Charlie’s head and groaned softly, holding as still as he could. He let his eyes drift shut as he tried to relax and just enjoy.

 

He groaned again when Charlie pulled back completely. “I can take it, fuck my face. Want you to come, get you started on relaxing.”

 

“You think I’m arguing with an offer like that you have another thing coming.”

 

“I don’t want you to argue, I want you to come, I can take it. Mild hair pulling isn’t going to bother either.”

 

Ian didn’t need to be asked twice. His hands fisted in Charlie’s hair and he slammed his hips forward into Charlie’s mouth, getting a groan and a bit of convulsive swallowing around the head of his dick as he did so. It didn’t take long to finish that way, with the gasps and swallows and choked moans around his dick as he fucked Charlie’s face. Charlie was gasping for breath and tears in his eyes as he pulled back when Ian let his hair go.

 

“Shit...” Ian muttered.

 

“Mmm, still too tense. I really really want to fuck that gorgeous ass of yours, and you are a knotted up mess even after coming.” Charlie kissed the top of Ian’s thigh and slid the used condom off. “We’ll both enjoy it a lot more if you relax.”

 

“Relaxed as I get,” Ian sighed.

 

“No, we have a problem then. I don’t want to hurt you, tense as you are, it’s going to hurt—don’t give me shit about you can take it. I’m sure you can, I’m sure you have…not what I want though.” 

 

“Oh is that so, Professor, and how do you propose to get your way on that?” Ian snorted.

 

“Simple matter of acclimating you to my touch, and maybe another blowjob after a shower, a massage and a good long naked make out session with lots of touching. You need to get settled into skin and touch first. We’ve got the rest of the night, all day tomorrow and most of tomorrow night.”

 

“You staying that long.”

 

“Yeah.” Charlie said then nipped at Ian’s hipbone before flashing an obnoxious smile up at him. “Need lots of data for the equation for perfect sex after all.”

~*~

Ian stifled the groan as he sunk into his seat. Flight was early enough that it wasn’t too packed, almost a surprise it didn’t get cancelled and combined with a later flight it was so empty. Even more shocking he could move. Charlie had been _determined_ , approaching getting Ian to relax like it was some kind of Nobel Prize winning problem and systematically set to finding the key to getting Ian relaxed. The ‘acclimatization theory’ worked. Worked too well, reducing Ian to a confused mess of strung out nerves and lax muscles, but it worked. Smug little shit had been quite proud of himself over that, and then had fucked Ian boneless—twice. Waking up to get ready for the flight had happened almost two hours earlier than necessary, and gotten Ian sent off with another bone melting back rub and equally bone melting blowjob.

 

Almost a disappointment that there hadn’t been a third round of Charlie fucking him boneless but …Charlie’s calculations said Ian indulged in sex too infrequently and twice of slowly, carefully, bone-meltingly getting fucked through the mattress was probably the limit, especially if he wanted to sit through a flight without his back cramping up to hell and a very sore ass. It would have been worth it, but the future professor was quite right on that count. If not for the stubborn determination that Ian _relax_ to the point of mindless, boneless raw nerves before he’d been fucked, twice would have been at least one time too many, if not two times too many. 

 

The little professor wasn’t so little, in fact probably the biggest Ian had ever been fucked by, and honestly, the times he’d bottomed were few and far between and the last over six years before when he’d gone to visit his mother on leave while he was still in the army. If he did manage a night at a club and some kind of hook up, it was usually a drunk twink looking for a bit of danger. He’d turned down more than one that had made it clear they’d top him and give him a rough ride that he didn’t particularly care for.

 

The little professor got his thousand bucks from the bet with his friend. Ian figured he was pretty well ruined forever bottoming again after having a fantasy of slow and gentle being shattered by exceeding anything he had ever dared imagine. He didn’t come across as a ‘bottom’ to most and more a challenge than anything to those who had wanted to top him. The little professor with his math babble and bullshitted vaguely scientific sounding theories had ruined him.


	2. Problematic Data, November 1989, Princeton, New Jersey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two weeks as a 'guest' of the NSA, indulging their curiosity at an undisclosed location he could accept. It was the 1972 birthdate that was killing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings/notes: angst, ow, family issues (given for this fandom but in this case Ian's not Charlie's), homophobia, vague passing reference to serial killer preying on homeless kids. angst and ow pretty much cover it though.

He was a hunter. It took _months_ to get the vacation time to make this trip, this hunt. The time taken to get to this hunt hadn’t cooled his ire, not a bit. It had just simmered threatening to boil over at any moment for _months_.

 

The NSA had caught up with him between cases in June. That had been a _very_ unpleasant two weeks. Two weeks NSA interrogation because of a not quite two day hookup with a spring breaker was no one’s idea of a good time.

 

“CHARLES MATTHEW EPPES! MARCH SEVENTEENTH, **NINETEEN SEVENTY TWO** ” Ian snarled coming up behind his quarry.

 

The kid in front of him stopped still and turned, dark eyes big and worried. “Ian?”

 

Ian reached for his badge and held it out. Charlie took it somewhat dumbfounded. Ian had told him he was FBI, but it seemed like Charlie had forgotten or hadn’t quite believed it. “I was born in the Philippines and split time between there where my mom stayed and my dad’s postings which were anywhere but stateside growing up. Considering I didn’t set foot in the continental US until I was _fifteen_ and am now currently FBI, the NSA were very curious about the two nights spent with their _underage_ asset. I got the pleasure of two weeks of their curiosity at an undisclosed location. If my father hadn’t gotten a medical discharge and a shit ton of ribbons and medals as a Colonel and my grandfather a highly decorated four star general before he retired I almost think I might still be enjoying their curiosity.”

 

Charlie stared at the badge, jaw going a little more slack at each word uttered. “Oh shit,” he whispered.

 

“Yeah, oh shit sums it up.” Ian glared. “Evidently some Dr. Fleinhardt verified it was a random hook up, pure chance and actually spurred on by a Penfield.”

 

“You remember Larry and Marshall, right?”

 

“Yeah, I already put that together.” Ian glared. Damn it. Charlie _did_ look seventeen, if that, clean shaven and in the afternoon sunlight, even with the heaviness of the five o’clock shadow on his cheeks, it wasn’t just a baby face making him look young, he was a baby.

 

“I—god, I never imagined that a one night stand would get interrogated—I’m so sorry—“

 

“Extenuating circumstances on that. NSA I can understand. It’s your birthdate that has me pissed.”

 

“Well my birthdate means I’m constantly horny! I’m seventeen! I was doing dual enrollment college work at _ten_. The only reason I didn’t graduate from high school and actually start college at ten was because my older brother had a fucking shit fit and Dad wasn’t much better! Don’s five years older than me. We graduated together and he hates me enough for that, let alone if I had graduated before him! Dad still didn’t want me going off to college when I did. Going to a party, getting drunk and losing your virginity is actually a seventeen sort of thing to do! Granted I was a grad student on spring break not a high schooler but it is still something normal and it was the first time I’ve really gotten a chance to go anywhere without my mother breathing down my neck or NSA agents wanting their codes worked out!”

 

Ian stared in horror. That… he hadn’t suspected that. Sure not the most experienced, more enthusiastic than anything and so fixated on getting Ian to relax that …The abrupt shift out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. A woman a few feet away, late forties perhaps, maybe fifty? 

 

“There you are, Charlie. I’ve been waiting almost an hour…”

 

“Oh…sorry, mom, I got hung up with an equation and then, uhm, this is Ian. Ian…uh, this is my mom, Margaret Eppes.”

 

“You know, little Professor, the NSA was bad enough.” Ian muttered, if he wasn’t so horrified himself he’d be enjoying the little shithead’s discomfort. “Ian Edgerton, ma’am.”

 

She smiled, something calculating and downright terrifying in her eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I insist you come to supper tonight—are you going to be in town long? My husband Alan isn’t going to make it out this year, our older son Don is had surgery on his knee yesterday. Charlie has some project going on that we’re going to have to pry him and Larry away from their blackboards to eat, I insist you come to Thanksgiving dinner if you’re in town. I’ve never been to the Philippines. I’d love to hear about it. It must have been a beautiful place to grow up.”

 

“It was,” Ian managed. Any doubt or questioning of how much Charlie’s mother might have heard firmly settled with that.

 

Charlie looked ready to bolt.

 

Ian caught him by the arm. “Oh no you don’t. Running is not going to do you any good. I’m fugitive retrieval. The NSA, fine. But I am not dealing with your mother alone, Professor.”

 

“FBI?”

 

“Yes, ma’am. I enlisted in the Army when I was sixteen, went through basic training and finished out high school in the reserves, went active duty just after I turned eighteen. Went to Quantico at twenty-four. Dad and Grandpa grumbled a bit I didn’t go career army, my kid brother by dad’s second wife is twelve, he’s the one they’re hoping will do that now. He seems more taken with rodeo than the military so I don’t think that’s going to happen. My baby sister by dad is the one that I think just might do it, she’s seven. She wants to be a Green Beret, Dad keeps telling her that they don’t have women as Green Berets she tells him she’s going to be the first. I don’t know about that, but Jessica’s more likely to be the next career military Edgerton than Daniel. I have a step-sister, Maiza, who is twenty-five and expecting her second baby in January and a half-sister, Ranie, who is sixteen from mom’s second marriage. Mom and Dad divorced when I was one. Mom married Baltazar when I was six he had a heart attack nine years ago. And a step-brother, Drigo, who is nineteen from her current marriage that…is an unfortunate side effect of mom marrying Tomas two years ago. Only met Drigo and Tomas twice, but Maiza and Ranie are pretty unimpressed with both of them. I’m not doubting Maiza’s judgement on that, the two of us were pretty tight growing up until I came to the states to go to high school.” Ian offered, preempting the first dozen or so questions he was bound to get.

 

“You and Maiza are close in age?”

 

Ian nodded. “She’s just over two years younger than me.”

 

Charlie gaped. “You’re twenty seven?”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“I-seriously? I really didn’t think-“

 

“You have a car here?”

 

“No checked into the motel and caught a cab to campus.”

 

“Well then you can ride with us. I need to stop at the grocery store.”

 

There was no way to politely get out of that. Absolutely none. She had his career, hell, his very freedom in her hand. The NSA might have decided oh well their genius got laid, no big conspiracy or issue there, though Ian rather wondered how much Tomas or Drigo had to do with the fact he got treated to the NSA’s curiosity for two whole weeks. Margaret Eppes was another thing entirely.

 

Instead of the grocery store, she drove to the motel he said he was at, told him to get his gear and check out, they had room. Since he was going to be in town rather than at his family’s—Texas, the Edgertons were from just outside Dallas, his grandfather (Jack) his father and step-mother (Dean and Connie) and his baby brother and sister (Yes, Daniel and Jessica were their names) His Aunt Maggie was in New York, his cousins Debbie and Doug as well. Few cousins on his Grandmother Edgerton’s side in Kentucky. 

 

No he most definitely wasn’t traveling on to New York for Thanksgiving. Aunt Maggie hosted her late husband’s family and Ian wasn’t going near that. Not even to escape Margaret Eppes.

 

Dinner was pizza and interrogation while Margaret Eppes worked on prepping Thanksgiving dinner. (A Bachelor’s degree was required for the FBI wasn’t it? And a foreign language? Yes, his degree was in business, he spoke Tagalog, Spanish and Portuguese) Ian and Charlie both put to work here and there, then shooed out from underfoot to go find Larry. Marshall had been delivered to the airport earlier, before she’d picked up Charlie, and Ian since he’d been with Charlie. Marshall was home for the next week. Campus had been emptied by now and the mysteries of the universe could wait, they needed to get Larry before he got lost in said mysteries and didn’t surface for air until sometime next week. Ian could drive her car. It was dark and the weather threatening to turn into a nice slick winter mix of slush and ice, Charlie most definitely was not driving, not only did he not have the experience, his learners permit had expired and he’d flunked the driver’s ed course twice distracted by math. They were sent with a list as well, some things to try to find at the supermarket on their way back if the shelves weren’t completely bare.

*

“Your mother’s an expert at interrogation.”

 

“She’s a lawyer.” Charlie sighed miserably from the passenger seat.

 

Ian did not groan. He wanted to.

*

“Did you have too much trouble?” Margaret Eppes asked as Ian braved the lion’s den, or more specifically, the kitchen, to get over the major interrogation he knew was waiting once Charlie wasn’t in ear shot.

 

“My baby sister’s brownie troupe overdosed on sugar is probably easier to herd, and there’s something like fifteen of them.” Ian muttered. Charlie and Larry were in the den, which was covered in chalk boards and papers and the two of them had been instantly wrapped up in plotting something—and it was most definitely plotting more than something more academic no matter all the math and science babble. “They’re plotting world domination or how to improve a septic system or something…”

 

“Marshall had a run in with the rugby team last week. Larry’s a horrible influence, I’m surprised he and Charlie haven’t been arrested for their geek revenge pranks. I got called into the Math department Chair’s office and met with a couple MIT’s Department chairs in hopes I had any idea of what could be done about the prank war two years ago. Bored geniuses are a terrible thing. Bored geniuses trying to out prank one another is the stuff of nightmares,” Margaret laughed. “There’s some beer in the fridge, help yourself.”

 

Ian did. He had the feeling that he was going to need it.

 

“Larry told me of his intentions to get the boys good and drunk at least once. Declared it a rite of passage, go somewhere with too much sand, too many half naked idiots and get drunk and spend half the trip hungover and vomiting, it was almost a law you had to do something to that effect once in college. That the boys had been way too young previously but this past spring at seventeen and nineteen weren’t too horrible of an age to go do that, especially when he was still on sabbatical to keep half an eye on them—such as Larry’s eye is. This year and next they’re going to be too busy with their work to really have the chance to. Charlie’s on track to have his first doctorate at nineteen, Marshall at twenty-one. Neither one’s had the most normal of childhoods. Charlie was thirteen when I moved out here with him so he could go to Princeton. Alan stayed in Pasadena, our older son is at UCLA.”

 

“Larry succeeded. The few minutes I saw Marshall, I’m thinking his hangover was not one he will ever forget.” Ian said relaxing just a little. “Charlie seems to have a rather scary natural tolerance to alcohol and immunity to hangovers.”

 

Margaret laughed. “Alan can drink tequila like water and never get a headache. I’ve never been prone to hangovers either. Now poor Donny, that trait missed him entirely. He had a few memorable instances of day long ‘flu’ in high school.”

 

“I was sure Marshall wasn’t old enough to be as drunk as he was, had my doubts about Charlie old enough to have been drinking even if—he probably hadn’t shaved in four or five days and it was debatable if he was by appearance. I never guessed…”

 

She smiled. “Probably two thirds of the kids that invaded Miami for spring break weren’t old enough to drink.”

 

Ian nodded. ID’s didn’t get checked outside purchase counter or the bars’ doors unless there was some other reason for law enforcement to be present. Spring Break was one of those things that of the mass law breaking done, and there was plenty, the fact that the nineteen and twenty year olds were as wasted as the twenty-one year olds was hardly a priority until there was an alcohol related incident that required LEOs showing up. “Yeah but precious few were jailbait.”

 

“The boys are both as hairy as their father. Neither one of them could get away with not shaving when they were thirteen, just enough and just dark enough there was no way, both of them had a full beard and five o’clock shadow not long after noon at sixteen. I’m certainly not faulting you for assuming Charlie at least a couple years older than what he is, especially if he hadn’t shaved for a few days. And…where did you meet?”

 

“Dance club. I have no idea how the hell Marshall got in there. He looked younger than Charlie, by a good bit. I was stuck there a couple nights, brought in a fugitive to the Miami office. It had been back to back bad cases, one…had included dead kids my little brother and sisters ages. I hadn’t caught so much as a day off in close to three months that wasn’t spent in transit to the next case. I was very deliberately looking to get drunk and hopefully laid.”

 

“It was spring break, and a dance club. I doubt there was anyone in the club that wasn’t looking for exactly that. Save for Larry he gave up the distractions of the flesh for his sabbatical to free concentration for…harnessing some sort of sub atomic energy, I think. Larry and the boys get going I tend to just smile and go find a good book.”

 

Margaret moved to refill her glass of wine and simply stood and stared at him a long time. “What hurt you so badly?”

 

Ian raised an eyebrow.

 

“What did Charlie do that hurt you so badly that you came and tracked him down? The NSA?”

 

Ian shook his head. “No, that—is actually understandable if he does government work like that. I almost think that was more about Tomas and Drigo than anything. Tomas’ politics are a bit iffy and Drigo is…by all accounts a real piece of work. I was raised abroad, my mother’s Filipino, even if I’m American born on the base there so technically born on American soil, but mom and dad divorced faster than they got married and I stayed with mom. Visited dad wherever he was posted when it was feasible. Didn’t set foot on the continental US until I was fifteen. My history is going to get attention crossing paths seemingly randomly with someone doing higher level clearance work for the NSA or CIA or what have you. Even if it was just random…”

 

She stood there, waiting and watching.

 

“Last February, Peter Carson, Washington state, most of his victims were street kids snatched from Seattle…” Ian said quietly. “He’d keep them alive a while, month or two…”

 

Margaret’s eyes widened. “I saw that on the news. Disturbing seems like a very weak description.”

 

“Yeah, well you didn’t walk through that cellar or the barn…” Ian said unsteadily. “Back to back cases, first day off I’d had since that. Ranie…my little sister Ranie, she’ll turn seventeen here in a couple weeks, December eighth. I’d put a bullet between the eyes of any son of a bitch my age that laid a finger on her…”

 

“And then you were picked up Charlie in a dance club…” she said quietly, eyes demanding he carry on with his story. No condemnation, but demand that he finish telling all of it no matter what.

 

“Actually, I’d only been there probably an hour, hadn’t gotten drunk enough to unwind enough to think about trying to find someone to hook up with yet. Still trying to shove off the last case, let alone the ones that came before, try to get in the frame of mind to let anyone in arm’s reach when I’m unarmed.”

 

If that disturbed her, she didn’t show it. “That from being fugitive retrieval?”

 

“Partly, done a couple jobs for the CIA and NSA too, even when I was still in the Army. I’m a sniper. We tend to be paranoid and solitary…takes a bit to get in a civilized enough mindset to…let your guard down. Was almost there when this guy came up behind me, made just enough noise and motion to let me know he was there, cautious enough with the first touch on my side before he was plastered against my back, told me he had a thousand dollars riding on a bet. The bet was about my ass, and it was great and he had a few ideas of what he’d like to do with it.”

 

“Oh good grief, Charlie…So you’re the reason Marshall was in a snit for most of the spring semester and griping about Charlie cheating on a bet…” Margaret laughed. “None of the boys would do anything but panic when I asked what the bet had been about, Larry included. Charlie and Marshall have hated each other since they clapped eyes on one another. They get extremely competitive and snippy about one upping one another. Larry deserves an award for managing the pair of them most of the time. Competition might bring out the best work in both of them, but they’re nearly intolerable in the same room when they get going. I don’t think either one of them was ever remotely challenged on an academic level until they met each other—and they’ve gone round and round since. Good for them both, but I definitely need a bottle of wine and a day to myself when Charlie and Marshall have been on a streak of going at each other.”

 

Ian could feel his cheeks just burning. “You’re…taking your teenage son interested in men well…”

 

She looked sad for a moment. “Larry’s the one that actually managed to broach that subject…and…Charlie won’t tell his father or brother. Alan might splutter and be shocked but that would only last a few moments, just caught off guard. Donny, well, Charlie’s brother might be more of an issue. That Charlie was gifted, extremely terrifyingly gifted was evident by the time he was three. Donny’s a bright boy, good student, outstanding athlete, but Donny is…normal. It’s always been a juggling act with the two of them, even with the age difference, maybe especially with the age difference. Donny was seven, eight just starting to take off in little league and so proud of bringing home A’s on his report card and his baby brother who barely said three words, prone to raging fits, suddenly took even ore of the spotlight doing math that—was beyond most adults. Honestly we...were looking into testing for Charlie for learning delays perhaps, maybe Autism or I don’t even know. Charlie was not a normal little boy, he never was. Charlie idolized Donny though, and Donny hasn’t quite outgrown the resentment that is still boiling right under the surface too often. But of all the issues that have cropped up with raising Charlie, physical attributes of someone he’s attracted to hasn’t ever registered as an issue for me, and most certainly wouldn’t for my husband even if Charlie doesn’t believe that. He’s only out so to speak to myself, Larry and Marshall.”

 

“He’s young, and academia’s more accepting, he’ll probably have less trouble than you’re worrying about.” Ian offered quietly.

 

She looked at him, searching and curious, finally asked. “Your family?”

 

Ian swallowed. He doubted the wounds from Baltazar’s reactions would ever close. He’d finally begged his mother to let him go live with his dad, for Maiza and Ranie’s sakes that they didn’t get put in the middle of a war between his mother and Baltazar. His dad’s disappointment didn’t cut nearly as deep as Baltazar’s unwavering hatred that came out of nowhere. His dad had been someone he visited for a month in the summer maybe a couple weeks around Christmas. Baltazar had been the one who’d raised him. His mother simply demanded he sort out how to get a child or two eventually. She was going to have grandchildren. His grandmother had been about the same.

 

His step mother refused to allow him around his then newborn little brother unsupervised. His father had actually defended him over that and the General had gotten pissed. She wasn’t as blatant about it after the General had laid down the law and his father agreed, but if they weren’t looking her attitude hadn’t changed.

 

They’d all had almost thirteen years to get used to the idea, it was better than it had been.

 

“They all know, it’s…” he shrugged. “They’ve mostly settled down about it. Nothing I advertise with my job. Not safe really…cross too many areas, rarely work with the same people twice.”

 

“What did Charlie do?” she asked again. “He hurt you. Hurt you badly enough you’re here.”

 

Ian took a gulp of his beer and struggled to find a way to answer that to the mother of the _child_ he unwittingly spent a day and two nights with. 

 

“Ian…”

 

“I’m just…trying to find a way to put it that…isn’t…crude.”

 

“I’m not that easily shocked, young man. I want to know what my son did that hurt you so badly.”

 

“Top and bottom make sense to you?” he blurted.

 

“Yes,” she said a twitch at her lips that said she was slightly amused by what she seemed to think a ridiculously obvious question.

 

“I—well, if I get a chance to do anything, it’s generally a one night stand, if it can be called that rarely make it to a bed, back room hallway or alley or something like that.” Ian said looking anywhere but at her. “I don’t let my guard down. The ones that approach me are generally looking for something quick and rough, little adventure for the night and wouldn’t cross the minds of the vast majority of them that I’m anything but strictly a top. Ones that might approach me wanting to top me...looking for a challenge to break, looking for…a kind of brutal I want no part of. Been there, done that, no thanks. Bet on getting a go at my ass hardly the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard. Grinning bouncing little fuzz ball is not the usual type that comes up wanting to top me.”

 

Margaret made a strangled sound that was awfully close to a smothered giggle. “I cannot believe, Charlie walked up and said he had money riding on getting you into bed—I can believe it but…oh lord…”

 

Ian swallowed and stared at the top of the fridge. “Got a math lecture all the way to the hotel, pure crazy that made me laugh and even a bit about research data for the mathematical equation for perfect sex. All things considered he might have been serious on that, but it was still amusing. Picking someone up at a club or bar, doesn’t include much laughing, or talking let alone crazy math and eager smiles, sure as hell don’t get on the receiving end of slow and soft and gentle.”

 

“And the NSA informing you how old Charlie was destroyed that for you.” Margaret said softly. “Oh, sweetheart.”

 

“So fucking pissed…” He grated out, not quite aware he’d said that aloud, until he had Margaret Eppes arms around him and nudging his head down to her shoulder. 

 

“You weren’t in the wrong, you weren’t. If anyone was it was Charlie and…he never intended anything like this. If he’d had a clue you’d be hurt, he wouldn’t have. His obliviousness to anything but numbers running through his head can cut deep and hurt, but he’s not a deliberately cruel person.”

 

“I hunt the sick bastards that prey on kids like him.”

 

“No. Ian, NO! Now stop it. You did nothing wrong.” She pulled back and her hands firm and unrelenting on his cheeks, holding him in place, forcing him to look at her. “You did nothing wrong. What did Charlie tell you about his age…did you ask?”

 

“He brushed off if he was old enough for the tequila shot I bought him that he was working on his doctorate, what did I think?”

 

“My hairball of a son, a few days from using a razor, talking about a doctorate degree work and spouting math incomprehensible to mere mortals, in a nightclub full of twenty somethings and the odd nineteen year old with a good fake ID, during spring break. And he approached you with a pickup line about the bet he had with Marshall! Were you _looking_ for a child?”

 

“NO!”

 

“Exactly, and you couldn’t be expected to triple check Charlie’s ID where you were. Not that he probably didn’t have an excellent fake courtesy of Larry to get in there in the first place.”

 

He closed his eyes against her determined stare.

 

“Oh sweetheart,” Margaret sighed and pulled him tight in another hug, nudging his head back down on her shoulder and rocked side to side where she stood holding him.


	3. Guesses and Estimates, June 2005, Los Angeles, California

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian comes to LA for the sniper case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings:** does reference to canon character death really need here? (Margaret), reference to past partially-open relationship, reference to past partner betrayal, reference to past drug use, detox and implied addiction issues (well past/settled/dealt with just stings that crop up now and then as far as Ian &Charlie go). Also, Ian does not have all that high of an opinion of Don.

_Margaret Esther Eppes  
May 7, 1940- June 18, 2003  
Beloved Wife & Mother_

 

“Finally made it here, mama,” Ian murmured crouching down in front of the headstone laying a single wine colored silk orchid in front of the stone digging just a little and putting the dirt over the very end of it so it stood a fair enough chance of staying there a while. There were fresh enough real flowers in the vase on top of the stone, most likely from Alan. He wasn’t going to disturb those. “Larry called but I wasn’t even in the country. I didn’t find out until August.” 

 

“He doesn’t know I’m in town.” Ian swallowed. “Don put in a request for me to come out here. Wanted me to consult on a case, supposed to be in the office at eight tomorrow. Caught an earlier flight and managed to get in today.”

 

He’d worked with Don for almost a year in Fugitive Retrieval. He’d seen exactly why Charlie had practically ran in the opposite direction when anything about his brother was brought up. Ian had at least broached the subject of siblings with Don and got a mountain of vitriol when he’d turned the question on him. Jessica had gotten an appointment to West Point. His dad had been over the moon about that. Ian had bragged a bit on his youngest sister. Jessy was the brains of his siblings. Nothing like Charlie but still outshone Ian and Daniel, and more than that was the one set on a military career, carrying on the Edgerton tradition. Daniel had indeed gone rodeo. Good at it too, they’d been celebrating Daniel’s second championship buckle when they’d somehow gotten drunk enough to make a detour that Ian still hadn’t quite wrapped his mind around a year and a half before, barely three months after Ian had learned of Margaret’s passing, not even six months…

 

Even at that, Daniel and his dad had been there as a matter of course since his Dad had been there to see Daniel ride. His mother had known he planned to be in Vegas that week and had shown up determined to see him, less than pleased he hadn’t been able to make the trip to see her in almost two years so she had packed up everyone—including Drigo, who’d turned out to be not bad at all without Tomas in the picture, his mom had kept Drigo when she’d kicked Tomas to the curb, and Drigo’s Australian husband Roddy—and hauled them to Vegas to see him. Maiza and her five kids and her husband Benigno, who Ian still couldn’t stand. Ranie had managed to fly in and out for a couple nights too.

 

Larry had been there, as had Marshall and a number of others Ian had met over the years, chances to see Charlie were never passed up, and if Charlie had some conference he was supposed to be at when Ian had a few days in a row of downtime, Ian had tagged along to the conference. Which there had been a physics one in Las Vegas that week, more Larry’s physics crowd than Charlie’s math crowd, but Charlie did Larry’s math on whatever Larry had presented and Marshall had done math on another project some Hirschbaum presented having him there as well. A crowd of Daniel’s friends who had squinted a bit and drew their brows together but what the hell it was a party seemed to win out over anything else. For an unplanned drunken moment of insanity almost everyone had been there. Jessy hadn’t been able to get there, but she’d been the only one missing. Jessy… and Margaret.

 

“I bet you were just rolling on the floor with the General and my grandmother if you were watching the trip to Vegas.” Ian chuckled. There had been plenty of pictures and video evidence of---the most bizarre drunken mess that was humanly possible. Ian still wanted to get his hands on some more of that, just to see what the hell had all happened. He hadn’t been that drunk, and he remembered everything he said or did, just there had been that much half-drunk chaos around with physicists drinking cowboys under the table there was a lot he possibly missed.

 

Spring Break a year ago had been spent mostly jetlagged and hungover, and with Charlie a professor now, Ian expected he’d still be keeping track of when Spring Break was when he was seventy. Five days, two spent on planes, and a formal _event_ thrown by his mother who glared half of Filipino society circles into behaving or else. Marshall had suffered the worst and the loudest on both the jetlag and hangover fronts, called Charlie Eppesie the whole time and had been an ass and a half. He really wondered what possessed his mother to invite the pain in the ass.

 

His father not to be outdone threw a barbecue that half of Dallas Society and a good amount of Army brass and a bunch of rodeo cowboys showed up to over the Fourth of July. That—well the barbecue was actually tradition the General started. Ian’s dad just turned it into a third party, again Penfield had been invited and been a pain in the damned ass. Larry had been at both. His father had flown to the Philippines for the one his mother had hosted, and she’d flown to Texas for the fourth of July. And they’d both found some reason to be in Honolulu in early December and again in March. Ian was almost convinced his parents had an intercontinental affair going on. Actually, Ian wasn’t the only one. Jessy had asked him about that when he’d made it to her graduation from West Point three weeks before and Daniel had muttered about that possibility too. Maiza flat out asked after the Fourth of July and Ranie had a fit at their mother and wasn’t talking to her over the possibility. Even Drigo was wondering according to Charlie.

 

“Something’s got to give,” Ian whispered. “I—I’ve been the one dragging my feet. Charlie’s actually getting along with Don, been doing some…math whatever. Major Crimes’ solve rate out here has skyrocketed the last few months since Charlie started…I know how much it’s always meant to you that they get along and…something’s got to give, mama.” 

 

He didn’t think Charlie came out of his grief and number haze far enough to actually realize what they’d done until the barbecue in Dallas. That’s when the real problem came about, of what they were going to do about Alan and Don. Well, the problem had always existed, just it had finally became something they couldn’t ignore. Ian was truly worried about both, grief still too fresh and…well, that Charlie had always had an uneasy relationship with Alan and an almost hostile one with Don was being kind. Mama had loved Alan too much, and she didn’t defend him when he was a fool, called him on it. Ian wasn’t worried about Alan really. Alan just had never figured out what to do with Charlie and his too often parallel reality he existed in away from the rest of the world.

 

Alan also never seemed to completely grasp some other realities of Charlie from what Ian knew, like the parts where he’d been working for the NSA since he was fifteen, had a clearance higher than Ian really wanted to imagine and as such had been exposed to so much—at enough of a distance that it was theoretical, no more immediate and real than the ten o’clock news. There was only so much hiding in theoretical and numbers that even Charlie could do, he had full realization of just what some of his calculations had translated to in the real world. Everything Mama said, even everything Charlie said, Alan simply had never worked out what to do with Charlie, terrified of his intelligence and how lost he got in the numbers and tended to want to wrap him up in cotton and hide him away in a tower of chalkboards. Ian got that, he’d fought that urge more than once. He’d also seen how ruthless and determined Charlie could be when he dug his heels in over something. 

 

Don… Well, Don needed a kick in the ass and grow up, get over himself. Maybe Ian was biased, but Charlie would give up a good seventy points or more of IQ just to be normal, just to have his big brother like him. Growing up with Charlie had to have been a damn nightmare at times, Ian could understand that. But Ian had also known their mother, and all that was said by Mama and Charlie about Alan, even Larry since he’d been at CalSci and gotten to know the man. Alan was not going to be that much a problem once he got done flailing and sticking his foot in his mouth. Don was another story. Yeah, growing up with Charlie had probably been a bitch at times, but Don was a goddamn pissant about it. Mama and Alan had spent _years_ on opposite coasts just to make sure each of them had someone close. That Alan hadn’t followed to New Jersey had been all about Don. Making sure Don had his room to come home to on the weekends, had someone around to hit up for ‘emergency’ cash, someone to make it to his home games.

 

Charlie worked out some equation, to convince his father he was grown up and knew his own mind and lay the foundation for the equation of proving Ian was good for him. And some kind of foundation for Don to see that Charlie wasn’t a freak and useful and…

 

All three of the Eppes men had needed the time to grieve, try to find their feet after losing Mama. Hell, Ian had too, not to mention Larry and Marshall. Then Charlie came up with his equation, and Ian had agreed. But…too much longer and it would be worse. He was here, and it was just time.

 

Ian had eighteen years in at the bureau, almost nineteen now. Another year and change and he had his twenty for retirement, he could manage a year with the possibility of needing to watch his back that much more. Do security consulting or something maybe, his supervisors had been told and told since he’d marked fifteen years he was gone after his twenty, they finally seemed to be believing that but were trying to work a consultant deal that still had him teaching a class at Quantico once a year. Ian was only concerned with getting through the next sixteen months, if the deal to consult and teach fell through, oh well. That was actually something he’d love to do, but he didn’t need the money and he didn’t need the headaches if there were too many over the fact he had a husband. That would have to simply play out as it would. His career wasn’t really that much a factor anymore. He didn’t want to give it up, but he was in a place that he could.

 

Charlie was over the moon with his work with Don. Getting along so well with Don these days. There had always been something, every time they’d almost told Alan and Don, there’d been something. Don’s baseball career cut short. Alan’s mother had taken three very long years to die when her health had started failing. Ian wasn’t sure Charlie actually had a clue about that more than in an academic sense, but Mama had called him in tears a few times, just needing an ear that wasn’t directly involved. In between that, well, there almost hadn’t been a reason to bother to try to tell Don and Alan. If Ian never heard the words ‘fluid dynamics’ again it would be too damn soon. He had Charlie’s NSA handler to thank for the push through of personal leave of absence for five months then, after that whole mess.

 

Case had brought him to LA. Somehow it seemed like now or never. It was going to be a mess no matter what, but too much longer would be so much worse. Charlie had recovered enough from losing mama that he could withstand the risk of losing Alan and Don. Baltazar’s memory had been unrelenting this last year but… God, Don had actually been the one finally getting Charlie’s feet a little more in the real world with Charlie’s crazy equation to get his brother to like him that factored in math for FBI cases. It was time, and fate seemed to be pushing their hand with Ian pulled out here for a case of Don’s.

 

His cellphone rang obnoxiously. “Edgerton” was barked out cold and clipped when he answered. Another shooting, was he in town yet?

 

Ian got the address and said he’d be there. He reached for the stone, trailing fingers across it, “I’ll visit again before I leave, gotta go, Mama. Miss you so damn much.”

~*~

He parked a good two blocks away from the circus and all the flashing lights. Several LAPD cars blocking things off. He got close enough to get an eyeball on where the body was laying and started looking. The hill overlooking the street, overgrowth, good a place as any to start. 

 

He spotted the two walking up the sidewalk stairs toward his position and slipped back just a bit, against a tree and almost blending in the shadows. Oblivious. Both of them. His professor, he expected that. Don pissed him off. His level of awareness for having Charlie with him at a crime scene was nowhere near high enough in Ian’s estimation. And Charlie didn’t have a vest on. Hell it looked doubtful Don had a vest on. Ian was not impressed. If Charlie was going to be going to crime scenes, Ian was going to make sure he had a damn vest far sooner than later.

 

Ian grinned as Charlie declared the spot where the sniper had shot from with a lot of babble that Don obviously didn’t have a hope in hell in following.

 

“Actually, he shot from over here,” Ian said making himself known. He wanted to deck Don for his god awful situational awareness. It was to be expected from Charlie, but there was no excuse for Don. Especially when he had a _civilian at a crime scene_.

 

Charlie stared at him slack jawed, recovering just enough before Don actually noticed. Don’s introduction had Charlie making faces behind him. Ian could see the numbers spinning around ‘what the hell just happened?’ in Charlie’s head.

 

“What’s your proof?” Charlie demanded.

 

Ian fought the grin and pointed out the flattened grass and the spot of flash burn from the gun’s muzzle. He couldn’t resist smiling at Charlie “Yours was a good guess too.”

 

“It wasn’t a guess…it was more of an estimate.” Charlie mumbled. Ian had all he could do not to laugh at the look on Charlie’s face.

 

Ian headed back down to the street with the brothers Eppes, Don totally oblivious to the daggers Ian was glaring in his back. Which just pissed him off worse, the lack of situational awareness on an active crime scene _with a civilian present_ was infuriating, all the more so because he was being so careless with his brother’s safety. Don Eppes arrogant assurance that he was right and nothing would go wrong around him was…Ian wanted to beat him. Charlie seemed to be more aware than Don, and Charlie was lost in the numbers trying to figure out just how he’d estimated wrong. The numbers at the moment were adding up to an acute awareness of the area and everything in it for his formula variables though.

 

“I—Don, I have to get back. I have a class and…”

 

“Damn it, Charlie,” Don almost whined.

 

“I can drop the kid where he needs to be. I’ve seen what I need to here. I want to take a look at the other sites.”

 

“Okay…” Don scowled. “You good with that, Charlie?”

 

“Yeah, that’ll be fine. You’re busy and if Agent…Edmonton…”

 

“Edgerton,” Ian had all he could do not to laugh.

 

“If Agent Edgerton has the time and doesn’t mind.”

 

“Okay, well, c’mere a sec, Charlie, I want to talk to you quick.”

 

Charlie was ready to blow a few fuses in that brain of his when he stomped away from Don. “Ready, Agent Edmonton?”

 

“Car’s this way.” Ian said and led the way. 

 

“I don’t believe Don. And I don’t believe you! Smirking and saying snipers love being snipers…Don’s worried, and there’s _rumors_ about you, you have a _reputation_ , he doesn’t believe them but I should watch myself with you…”

 

“Charlie, whether you want to believe it or not, but the last time I had sex with someone who wasn’t you? Was 1988.”

 

Charlie went pale, all the anger drained out of him. “I know…”

 

“Charlie…Professor, that wasn’t a…I didn’t mean…”

 

“I know. I’m the one that fucked up and fucked around.”

 

“Charlie!”

 

“I just mean Celia. Not any…”

 

“Anything before you realized that we were actually heading toward anything.”

 

“You—Ian, we were together and I knew we were together but you—were the one that ran from any conversation about monogamy.”

 

“Are we really going to go round about this one again? You were nineteen then, and a seventeen year old virgin when you met me.”

 

“When I was a complete asshole about propositioning you.”

 

“Charlie,”

 

“I still, even after all this time. I _know_ you, Ian. I know…I think half of it was I was so pissed you would never say a damn thing…” Charlie sighed. “I know you. I know how much some things get you, especially after your parents’ history. You let me screw around for five years, and yeah most of it was because I was so fucking pissed you’d never just say no more. That you were actually---“

 

“I couldn’t fucking stand it. I about demanded me only or over a dozen times before I finally couldn’t take anymore, that it was just breaking me too much. That I needed all of you or nothing. I couldn’t have—still would never—stand having all of you and then you change your mind and…find some pretty geek girl and have a half dozen kids or something.”

 

“Yes, women are fantastic. I like women. I like looking at women. Sex with women is pretty damn good too.”

 

“If you say so.”

 

“I do. But you know what, there was this guy with a great ass that got my attention sixteen years ago, and when everything’s said and done, no matter how good of sex it was or how gorgeous someone was—nothing came close to the guy with the great ass I picked up in Miami sixteen years ago.”

 

“Celia?” Ian dared. Oh they’d gone round on the subject of monogamy quite a bit, and Charlie had taken full advantage of the lack of demands of it mainly out of spite for a few years. Celia was the only subject that Ian had never quite dared push. Celia had come after, well after, they were monogamous. Celia and the last stint with fluid dynamics went hand and hand. The last stint of working with fluid dynamics had nearly destroyed Charlie. Celia hadn’t been an active part of that destruction but she was firmly entrenched in that whole disaster anyway.

 

“I figured I’d lost you—everything absolutely everything with that fiasco and I was suicidal, stoned out of my mind and figured what the hell, I was never getting you back anyway. Of course, you’re the one that shows up to drag me out of there.”

 

He’d been just petty enough to leave Celia behind in that mess too. Not that there was a hell of a lot he could have done, association—mostly her two brothers and father being the source of that disaster—had her firmly entrenched in the fall out. Her mother and step-father had somehow managed to get her out of there and back to Christchurch never to be heard from again. She’d been so strung out it was hard to say if she actually survived detox. Charlie…God, Charlie had been bad enough. Charlie had barely survived detoxing after that. Nothing had ever chilled Ian so deeply as Charlie’s mumbling that the numbers were so sharp and clear with the coke, and actually went away with the multitude of pills.

 

“For a genius, you’re a goddamned idiot sometimes.”

 

Charlie snorted. And had that aha look all of a sudden, mixed with broken and scared and absolutely confused.

 

“If you tell me you just figured out I fell for you probably the first night…”

 

“You want kids.”

 

Ian’s hands tightened on the wheel and he spared a glance at Charlie. 

 

“You’re so _stuck_ I’m going to find a woman that’s going to be easier and simpler and give me kids…you want kids.”

 

“Think we need to get your dad and brother at least aware we’ve been together for fifteen years---“

 

“Sixteen, just because you refused to have sex with me again until I was eighteen doesn’t mean we weren’t together.”

 

Ian wasn’t going to argue that one, simply continued, “Sixteen years, married a year and a half with two wedding receptions in two separate countries on opposite sides of the globe before we start worrying about kids.”

 

“You knew Ranie offered, in Vegas. When she was on hiatus or in the studio, she could work it so she was based somewhere, not touring and take the time. Have to be mine, but she’d carry it for us.”

 

Ian thanked god for minimal traffic and a red light. “No…I…I didn’t know that.”

 

“I don’t know that I’d want to risk a kid like me.”

 

“Be one hell of a challenge,” Ian agreed. He had spent too much time talking with Mama while Charlie was lost in his math when he’d visited Princeton. That Charlie’s kid would be smart was a given, and Ranie was smart too, her musical gifts might lean toward genius (and Baltazar was probably rolling in his grave that her musical genius had her dancing on a stage singing in outfits Ian almost wanted to send her to her room for but no racier than any other pop diva) but she was overall just smart. It would be a smart kid. Odds of getting struck by lightning were probably better than a kid with Charlie’s extreme genius. Charlie could probably give him the exact odds too.

 

“Would you really risk it?”

 

“Yeah,” Ian swallowed. “I would.”

 

Charlie stared at him in shock.

 

“Professor, we’ve got a sniper, and your dad and brother to deal with first.”

 

“Don’s going to—“

 

“Sniper first. Yeah. We didn’t plan this but—I don’t want to leave without—I have time, at least on-call rather than full out vacation for a couple weeks starting after this case is wrapped up but at least should catch a break.”

 

“Which doesn’t mean a whole lot.”

 

“It’s likely to get us a few days.”

 

“Yeah. Case first though because Don…”

 

“I know. We have a sniper on the loose in Los Angeles, we’re not throwing Don, and by extension, the whole lead team off in the middle of the investigation, Charlie.”

 

“Adoption?”

 

“Absolutely, and just as much a crapshoot in other ways as risking a biological kid that’s just like you. Any kid’s a crapshoot.”

 

“I’m so not ready to think about kids.”

 

“I know, but I’m not getting any younger, my age will be an issue before too long if we adopt.” Ian pointed out, that wasn’t the most immediate concern, but that he could easily be fifty by the time Charlie got his head around the idea wasn’t a stretch. Fifty was only seven years off. Ranie was the same age as Charlie. That would be an issue in a few years too. She was thirty-two, thirty-three in December, even if she had no interest in settling down or children of her own, the window where her carrying Charlie’s child for them was slowly closing with forty as a cut off in Ian’s mind, for the sake of his sister’s health and the baby’s. Deliberately running the risks involved in a pregnancy over forty when it would involve major medical intervention to attempt just didn’t make sense to him. Even moreso when it would deliberately leave a kid barely graduating college with one parent at retirement and the other in the back half of their seventies. His career had been a factor keeping it on the back burner, never let out of the realm of a wistful daydream or two as well. Kids weren't anything he'd ever thought would realistically happen, but he wasn't going to deny he'd like them. Charlie could think about it.

 

“You really had to pull the snipers love it in front of Don.”

 

“You need to factor that in, Charlie. The rush, the adrenaline, the challenge.”

 

“You get a rush from killing people.”

 

“Not from the killing. Though that usually doesn’t bother me because when I aim, I know who I’m aiming at deserves it.”

 

“From the sniping.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I can’t believe my math was that far off. It was almost twenty feet!” Charlie grumbled almost pouting.

 

Ian burst out laughing. “I can’t believe it took you that long to get to saying that.”


	4. Miscalculated Data with Unforseen Variables, November 1989, Princeton, New Jersey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie's thrilled to see Ian, though really confused as to why he showed up. He'd had more than a few fantasies, but the reality...is confusing. The things Ian likely thinks are the parts he'd run away from, don't. Ian doesn't flinch away from things most think Charlie's a freak for so that's something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings:** non-specified reason PTSD-nightmares, non-graphic reference to assault and battery of minor character with reference to resulting ptsd and nightmares, mention of passive-agressive teenage brat behavior from a 21/22 yr old Don, bits where Charlie is very very *very* seventeen.

“Charles? Are you all right?” Larry frowned.

 

Charlie shook his head and stumbled toward the corner sitting down on the floor and drawing his knees up to his chest, hiding his face in them. He’d headed to the kitchen on the pretense of getting Larry a beer when he noticed Ian wasn’t there. He’d hoped to rescue Ian from his mother.

 

Charlie had…

 

He couldn’t figure out what Ian was doing here. Hadn’t been able to. 

 

It had been… well, it had been something of a fantasy of Ian showing up. He’d figured having a bit of a crush on the guy he lost his virginity to and repeatedly playing out those nights and day in fantasies was normal. More normal than most things that rattled through his mind. So, yes, there’d been a bit of fantasy about Ian tracking him down for some reason and repeat of absolutely fantastic sex. He was seventeen, he was horny, Ian was gorgeous and…

 

And Ian had tracked him down.

 

And the NSA had been _curious_ enough to detain Ian for two weeks.

 

And Ian was standing in the kitchen shaking while Charlie’s mom held him.

 

“Charles?” Larry repeated and in the next instant was on the floor next to Charlie his arm around his shoulders and leaning his cheek against the top of Charlie’s head. “What happened?”

 

Charlie was never quite sure what he blathered out at Larry. Ian wasn’t…well after hearing about the NSA shouting and maybe a punch was what Charlie had expected. Maybe a good verbal attack when they’d gone to pick up Larry. He’d really expected that as white as Ian’s knuckles were on the wheel.

 

“It is atrocious outside, by the time you and Ian picked me up it was sleet and slush coming down in buckets. I’d be white knuckled trying to drive in that, especially somewhere I wasn’t familiar with, and with someone else in the car with me.”

 

Larry just leaned half curled around him and listened while Charlie repeated what he’d heard and seen in the kitchen. How…how _destroyed_ Ian was. And not because of the NSA, he almost seemed to be just shrugging two weeks of ‘curiosity at an undisclosed location’ off with the thought that it was on his step-father’s politics or something.

 

“That is probably the most likely scenario. That the scrutiny was so much was due to his step-father. And if he was raised abroad as you say, that likely only raised more red flags. Statistically he was quite possibly the only man that would have gotten that much scrutiny in at least a three block radius of that bar over a one night stand with you. Not a single lover of mine has ever gotten such scrutiny from government officials, background checks and a bit of information digging I’m sure, but never picked up for a discussion. And not to get into it, yes there have been a number of lovers in my past.”

 

“He figures he would still be a guest of their curiosity if his father hadn’t made it to Colonel before a medical discharge and heavily decorated and his grandfather a heavily decorated four star general.”

 

“Well, that is certainly possible. Especially depending what his father or grandfather did in the military. What…do you know his family name?”

 

“Edgerton.”

 

“Hmm, there was a General Jack Edgerton I worked with on a project. Goodness, almost twenty years ago now. The first project I’d worked on of that magnitude. The summer before I started grad school. I was all of eighteen and rather clueless. He gave me a lot of rather good advice the six weeks he was there. Watched out for me and rather gruffly informed me all the ways I was an idiot that needed to pay attention better. He left before the final two weeks, he was flying to Manila to visit his grandson and then take the boy on to Japan to visit his son, the boy’s father, for three weeks. The universe does work in mysterious ways, plans for everything, so many intersecting lines…”

 

“Larry…”

 

“I’ll ask but I’m almost certain that your Ian has to be the boy General Edgerton went to go visit and take to Japan. Edgerton is a not common enough name that there would be many Generals by that name. And even fewer General Edgertons who would need to fly to Manila to visit their grandson. Such coincidences does leave one to ponder the workings of fate. If they are related, the grandfather put in my path so many years ago and left such a great lasting impression for the brevity of knowing him and years later my protégé in the path of his grandson…”

 

“Larry, if you tell me that you slept with Ian’s grandfather, we’re both going to be in so much trouble because I’m breaking into the scotch mom keeps for you.” Charlie lifted his head and stared horrified at Larry.

 

“No. I can’t say I didn’t have a thought or two…”

 

“Larry!”

 

“What? General Edgerton was a fine looking man, built a lot like your Ian, on the taller side but not too much so, nice shoulders and lean. He carried his years quite well, very fit and had a presence that was almost larger than life. He was quite an attractive figure all around, I certainly would have, well, to put it crudely, been all over that in a minute even if he was an older gentleman. I was in one of my more sexually curious phases and wouldn’t have thought twice.”

 

“Larry, not helping.”

 

“Hmm I suppose not. Though, I for one am rather relieved.”

 

“Relieved?”

 

“Yes, a man does not go to such lengths to track down an extremely brief vacation liaison without some very powerful motivation, and the vast majority of those motivations aren’t any kind of good. I’m not so certain Ian’s motivations could be called anywhere near psychologically healthy, but they’re all turned inward on himself by what you described. I do believe his intentions were honorable, very much so. He braved your mother and possible ruin of his career and jail time.”

 

Charlie stared at Larry, stunned. That hadn’t even occurred to him. Not that his mother would, obviously by what Charlie had seen in the kitchen and he didn’t think she would have at all unless Ian was somehow threatening which he wasn’t.

 

“I don’t even want to know what you two are whispering about down there,” his mother appeared in the doorway of the den. “Charlie, show Ian on up to your room. He can have Marshall’s bed for the night. He could truly use some rest so you don’t cause any trouble, young man, and leave the door open partway.”

 

Ian was brittle, so far beyond the tense that seemed just part of him in Miami. Charlie wasn’t going to admit just how much he had dwelled on Ian, on the hours just touching, dozing with not only someone plastered against him but absolutely no barrier between skin. 

 

“C’mon, this way.” Charlie said quietly. The stairs were steep and a sharp incline. His mother didn’t like going up or down them, especially when the weather was bad because her knee bothered her. There were two rooms and a bathroom. At one point the upstairs had been an apartment entirely separate, and there was a fire escape type balcony and equally steep outside stairs off Larry’s room. Charlie had been stuck with Marshall for a roommate for two and a half years. Charlie had lived with his mom but Marshall at fifteen had been stuck in freshman housing—that hadn’t gone well at all. Even if they’d already hated each other’s guts by the end of their first semester it was Larry who had convinced his mother, and the dean, that it would be a good idea. That the two of them could have something of the college experience with a peer roommate and the issues Marshall had had in the dorm would be resolved by him having a safer and more stable environment.

 

Marshall had started calling him a spoiled brat that didn’t want to share his mommy. Looking back, Charlie had to admit that was mostly true at thirteen. His dad wasn’t around arguing that he needed to wait, needed—well, despite his dad’s good intentions everything his dad argued for would have driven Charlie straight out of his mind. Suicide or straight jacket were the only two outcomes no matter how the math was worked out about any of his dad’s ideas. Don wasn’t around. Don had gone at anyone that picked on Charlie if he saw it, if he knew it, but Don had quite often been Charlie’s worst tormenter and the refrain of _“Why can’t you be normal? Why do you have to ruin **everything**?”_ colored about every memory of his brother growing up. 

 

School had still sucked. He’d been obviously years younger than everyone else and obviously light years more intelligent, but it hadn’t been high school and the classes were somewhat challenging and Larry was awesome and Marshall was a prick turned into a roommate, until Marshall’s eighteenth birthday and his parents agreed he could have his own apartment. He had enough saved from contract work to pay for it and not have to worry about anything but classes. It wasn’t like Marshall’s parents had paid a dime for his room and board anyway once he was out of the dorms, and they certainly could afford it.

 

The bed bought for Marshall, along with the desk and bookcase and dresser were still in Charlie’s room, the arrangement of back to back bookcases making a partial wall at the L bend of the room still there too. Charlie had stubbornly kept the larger section of what had been a living room and bedroom when it was an apartment, Larry’s room had been a kitchen with its entry way to outside. Larry’s room still had a kitchen sink, a dorm sized fridge, a coffee pot and a microwave in all honesty. As well as the cupboard over the sink usually stocked with some kind of snacks, coffee, and instant hot cocoa.

 

Charlie’s face burned at the mess his room was barring Marshall’s corner which only had spillover of books—and some of those books stacked in the corner were actually Marshall’s. His mother harped regularly, but rarely ventured up the steep steps to actually see if his room was clean or not, she figured he’d clean it once every three weeks or so, when he ran out of laundry which he was entirely responsible for himself, especially with the washer and dryer in the upstairs bathroom, hookups leftover from when it had been an apartment. Larry didn’t notice unless he tripped on something and rarely ventured into Charlie and Marshall’s room beyond dragging them up and shoving them into bed when they were shambling around like Zombies.

 

“Marshall—well, he lived here a while. He was in the dorms his first semester. That really didn’t work. So we got to be roommates. He got an apartment once he turned eighteen. There was a break in and murder in the apartment building Larry used to live in, apartment next door to his actually. He kinda flipped and ended up with us for six months until he found a different place. His room’s across the landing. He’s still got some stuff here and half the time spends the weekends here. Sorry about the mess, mom doesn’t come up here often…” Charlie trailed off. The open doors on the landing were kind of obvious. Bathroom directly across from the stairs with the door open hadn’t needed any clarification, and Larry’s room not much either. There wasn’t a hall or anything, just a maybe six foot by six foot landing with three doors, no need for a tour of the upstairs.

 

“Obvious,” Ian said dryly and flicked a glance at the jeans, with underwear still tangled in them, lying on the floor where Charlie had shoved them down and stepped out of them on the way to his bed night before after being up the better part of three days working on a government project. 

 

Charlie shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from doing something monumentally stupid. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do exactly, but it didn’t take a genius to calculate that whatever he did would be monumentally stupid. Ian was wound up so tight that Charlie’s muscles almost ached in sympathy. Thoughts of Ian naked, skin under his hands and working the tension out of those muscles had him almost half hard, heat pooling unnervingly low in his belly and his hands itching to touch. The brittleness around Ian and the something in his eyes that Charlie couldn’t grasp had his stomach queasy and his chest tight and painful and he wanted to fix it, wanted to take it away, but didn’t know how. Didn’t know what exactly it all was to even try to fix it.

 

“You must really hate me,” Charlie whispered.

 

“I don’t,” was grated out in response. Charlie studied Ian, he believed that was the truth, and almost wondered if it would be better, easier if Ian did hate him. It would be easier for Ian, Charlie was sure about that. The thought of Ian hating him though…that made Charlie want to curl up and just _bawl_ until he died. It was beyond unbearable. That was totally irrational, even having a bit of a crush based on total fantasy of the guy he’d lost his virginity to and he knew it.

 

“I’m…I’m sorry I hurt you, but I don’t regret a second of the time I spent with you. I never wanted to hurt you though, ever.”

 

Ian got more brittle. Charlie wanted to kick himself, beg forgiveness…he shoved his hands deeper in his pockets and balled them into fists. The urge to reach out, to touch was overwhelming and even he knew it would be entirely the wrong thing to do just now.

 

Ian closed his eyes and just looked… _agonized_ as he swallowed, jaw clenched tight. Charlie’s own throat threatened to close on him and the ache in his chest terrifying, bile churned in his stomach and his eyes burned. His fault, all his fault Ian looked like that.

 

“I don’t regret it either, that’s the fucking problem.”

 

Charlie failed to see the problem then. It was obvious Ian thought there was one and it was about killing him. Charlie didn’t see it though. He wasn’t that clueless and stupid to actually _say_ that, but he really didn’t see the problem.

 

“Can…Can we maybe get to know each other and be friends? And…well, I’m not going to be seventeen forever if that’s the whole problem.” Charlie blurted.

 

Ian looked gutted. Charlie could have kicked himself. 

 

“Yeah, friends would be…good,” Ian finally whispered after just _staring_ at Charlie a long time. 

 

Charlie let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and knew he had to be grinning like an idiot but he really didn’t care. A chance to actually get to know Ian was…beyond awesome. He had just enough composure not to jump up and pump his fist in the air shouting yes, just barely. 

 

“I…” Ian trailed off and sighed. “Honest, right now I’m ready to drop. Haven’t gotten much rest on the last five cases or so, and it’s been a long day.”

 

“You, well, you kinda look like crap. Yeah. Bed’s over there around the corner. Go get settled in, Mom’s probably not letting you leave til Sunday unless it’s a work emergency especially with the weather crappy, get comfortable. I’m going to hit the shower but I’ll be quiet when I come back in.”

 

“Your mom…is something. She’s…You’re lucky to have her.”

 

“Yeah, she’s amazing. She’s all upset and worried, Don screwed up his knee pretty good in the spring. I had stuff going on I wouldn’t have been able to fly out til tonight. She wouldn’t leave me on my own, she was afraid Marshall and I would kill each other or Larry would kill us both. Marshall got orders to show up or else for Thanksgiving and he’s been an _asshole_ since Halloween about it. He’s going to be even worse when he gets back. Anyway, she didn’t trust us with Marshall all bitchy, and then Don had a fucking fit and told her not to come at all since she wouldn’t leave me on my own for a couple days so she made it for his surgery. We would have been fine. Seriously. I know how Marshall gets when he has to deal with his family so…not like I’m going to do anything but maybe crack a tooth or bite my tongue hard enough it bleeds…Think she was more worried about Marshall than me. Thanksgiving’s always bad for Marshall, has been…for a bit. And having to go home was all that much worse. Don’s fit was really really frigging bad. I think he made mom cry.” 

 

Even worse Don had been all _’no it’s okay, you don’t have to come until Charlie’s done with his job’_ …then he had a fucking fit and told her not to bother coming at all when she’d agreed they’d wait until after Charlie got the contract work done and fly out what would have been tonight, mostly for Marshall’s sake, and the fact Marshall was a suicidal fucking mess over Thanksgiving and didn’t want to leave Charlie and Larry to contend with him on their own trying to get him on the plane. And yeah, Don knew that too, but Marshall was a whiny prick just wanting attention according to Don. Generally, Charlie agreed, he really truly couldn’t stand Marshall over eighty percent of the time, but that didn’t change the fact of how screwed up Marshall got around Thanksgiving.

 

Don probably had a fit at their dad too, because there was no way their dad didn’t agree that Charlie was incapable of flying out on his own. That kind of pissed Charlie off, his dad seemed to think he was seven rather than seventeen by how he acted sometimes.

 

“You need to use the bathroom? Let you have it first so you can get to bed. The towels are in the cupboard over the dryer in there—and if you want to use the washer and dryer in there while you’re here, go for it. Larry and Marshall regularly pack two weeks of clothes to come spend the night.” Charlie smiled. “Not a big deal.”

 

“Take you up on the washer and dryer tomorrow.” Ian agreed. “And on using the bathroom first now.”

 

Ian stowed his bags—two duffels, a heavy duty camping style backpack, the kind with a large back frame, that a sleeping bag and tent were strapped onto, along with a small cast iron skillet and canteen and Charlie wasn’t sure what, but it looked like Ian could walk out of the house and spend a month in the wilderness with that backpack, and a rifle case. The shape it couldn’t be anything but a rifle. Ian had shrugged off the suit coat, left it behind when he came out of the tucked around section of the room that was Marshall’s and headed out to the bathroom, along with his shoes and socks. Charlie had all he could do not to gape. Ian headed to the bathroom with a Ziploc baggie that had tooth brush, toothpaste and floss in it, a pair of sweat pants—and two guns in shoulder holsters and a third on his hip.

 

He was back only a just over five minutes later, hair a bit damp around the edges like he’d splashed water on his face. Shirtless in the sweatpants, clothes balled up under his arm and holsters with the guns in hand. The guns were…more shocking than they should be. Ian was an FBI agent, fugitive retrieval at that, guns were part of the job. Charlie knew that…he just didn’t expect them somehow. At least not in his bedroom.

 

“What?” Ian demanded warily when Charlie stared too long.

 

“That…that’s new,” Charlie managed. “And not just new, but _new_ new.” His eyes moved to the scar on the uppermost of Ian’s arm, almost on his shoulder, a wide angry dark line that looked… _fresh_. So new that maybe the last of the scabs from the wound had only just fallen away.

 

“Bullet graze, first of October,” Ian said quietly, watching him carefully. 

 

Charlie didn’t even realize he moved across the room until he saw his own fingertips just barely touching the graze. Not as bad as the scar on Ian’s ribs or the circular ones on his leg from a “through and through” when he was in the Army yet or the long nasty looking one on his outer left thigh from shrapnel. “This the only one? You didn’t get shot anywhere else, did you?”

 

“Only one.” Ian agreed sounding as unsteady as Charlie felt.

 

“Promise?”

 

“Promise. Wasn’t even deep, just barely a graze, only enough to take skin and make a damn mess, didn’t even really hit much muscle. Wasn’t even deep enough to try to stitch, just be an annoying pain in the ass while it healed.”

 

“I…I don’t like the thought of you getting hurt.”

 

“I’m careful, but there are no guarantees with my job.”

 

Charlie swallowed and nodded. “Yeah…” And he was still standing there, still touching the new scar and staring and could he be more of a freak? Don was right about him. “I’m…gonna take a shower. Get some rest.” He bolted, and was glad he hadn’t gotten the clean clothes off the top of the dryer put away, which honestly, that only happened once in a rare while, but he at least had a pair of sweats and a t-shirt to put on when he got out of the shower.

~*~

Charlie awoke to familiar sounds, rough breathing and quiet nearly strangled pain noises. “Fuck, Marshall,” he yawned and stumbled out of bed all but sleep walking, finding and flicking on the little nightlight by the dresser from sheer routine and woke up enough to realize that wasn’t Marshall in Marshall’s bed, it was Ian.

 

Charlie stayed back by the dresser. He knew better. _Marshall_ had almost broken his nose once. Ian was more likely to break things than Marshall. “Ian, Ian wake up. C’mon, you’re safe, you’re in my room, in New Jersey. Wake up.”

 

The sharp inhale of breath was the only sound made. That was enough. Charlie moved closer to the bed sitting on the floor next to it. “It’s okay. I’m used to nightmares, not upsetting me, not going to ask. Marshall has nightmares a lot. Thanksgiving break of our freshman year, he was attacked and beaten really badly and was in the hospital a couple weeks. How he ended up moving out of the dorms and in with me and mom. He still has nightmares. He has a key to the door in Larry’s room. He’s usually here once a week these days. Comes up the outside stairs and lets himself in. I’m…I really don’t think Mom realizes quite how often Marshall shows up in the middle of the night, she knows he does sometimes, but he’s good about sneaking out after she leaves for work, I swear he tries to get later starting classes to pull it off. You’re okay. My house. I’m right here.” 

 

Charlie shifted, settling his back against the night stand and dared to reach for Ian’s hand, taking it in both his own and absently massaging. Hand massage was the one thing physically that he could get away with to calm Marshall, just holding his hand brought the expected ‘Not holding hands Eppesie’ and both of them would rather be beaten than _cuddle_ the other no matter what the circumstances. 

 

Ian’s palm was damp, his arm—and no doubt the rest of him—soaked with cold sweat. He wasn’t shaking or nearly hyperventilating like Marshall did when he woke up, Ian was still. Too still, tense to the point of maybe snapping and his breathing so very deliberately slow and even it was worse than Marshall’s hyperventilating.

 

“Fuck…I wake everyone up?”

 

“Shh, shh, I’m used to listening for Marshall even when I’m dead to the world, wake up and wake him up before he gets loud. I didn’t even realize it wasn’t him until I got the nightlight on and woke up enough to realize it was you over here. You weren’t loud.” Charlie whispered, daring to move up Ian’s hand a bit to his wrist, more petting almost as his thumb stroked over Ian’s pulse point—which was rapid and not quite steady, getting steadier, though. “Didn’t wake anyone up, wouldn’t have woken me up, except I’m used to Marshall.”

 

Charlie moved back to massaging Ian’s hand. “What helps?” he asked quietly.

 

Ian just breathed, very slowly and deliberately for a long while before saying “I’m fine.”

 

Charlie’s hand slid backup, brushed over the still rapid pulse. “Try again, pulse is still wild and your hand is all knotted tense that the rest of you has to be ready to snap. Are we up?”

 

“I’m fine. Go back to bed.”

 

“We’re up.” Charlie declared. “Shower help? Your arm is drenched, the rest of you and the bed has to be too. Shower, get something dry on and I’ll quick change the bedding…”

 

“I—“

 

“Leave the bathroom door cracked, just in case. Nothing new there. You need something to put on? I promise I really do have clean clothes in a couple of the drawers and a few more pairs of sweatpants you shouldn’t have a problem fitting. Make us some hot cocoa. Moving around up here and the shower at weird hours aren’t going to register enough to wake mom. I’ve never slept for crap, to the point mom’s even threatened to get me sleeping pills and put me on them for a month or two just to try to induce some sort of actual sleep cycle rather than three days awake until I’m so exhausted that the numbers don’t make sense and then ten hours solid, then a good five or ten days awake with only an hour or two cat nap here and there. I got five hours, I’m good for a couple days. I’m surprised mom didn’t collapse and have a psychotic break from sleep dep before I was five because I’ve always done that. I think I was eleven before she decided that I was okay awake on my own. She was better about forcing herself to stay awake too even if she got up and checked on me like every hour on the hour when I was nine, but yeah, I think I was eleven before mom got a full night’s sleep once I was born. Dad tried forcing me to take Benadryl at bedtime once when I was eight. I was up for seven days straight and nearly landed in the hospital. You’re not bothering my sleep any. I bother everyone else’s’.”

 

Ian just kept breathing.

 

“You get a shower, leave the door cracked, if you need to yell, do. You’re not going to bother Larry any more than me. He sleeps like I do if he doesn’t take a sleeping pill and he’s as used to Marshall as I am. I’ll change the sheets, make us some hot cocoa. Got a TV and VCR over by my bed, can go sit over there and you can watch a movie. I got a bunch, mom buys them for me. Music works better for me, but I’ll play them as background noise so she’s happy. I’ve gotten some pretty good ideas from lines in there—and up for five days off the one. Mom wasn’t happy. I like the Disney cartoons and the old Rogers and Hammerstein’s the best. Enough music in those they’re not too irritating when I’m working.”

 

“Fuck,” Ian whispered finally.

 

“Shh, shower, cocoa and a movie? Okay? That help?”

 

“Not getting back to sleep.” Ian grated out.

 

“No, I’m not, and if you fall asleep during the movie, great. Don’t you dare try to force yourself to stay awake, you really look like you haven’t gotten enough rest for ages.”

 

“You need sleep.”

 

“No, I got five hours. I’m good for a couple days. Told you, I…just kinda don’t much. Never have.”

 

Ian groaned wordlessly, but Charlie was taking it as ‘yeah all right moving’ because he rolled to his side and eyes fixed on Charlie’s face.

 

“Why don’t you sleep?”

 

“The numbers.” Charlie whispered. ”They’re always there….they don’t quit. They don’t leave me alone. You look at the dresser and see a dresser. I see equations for dimensions and the numbers are everywhere, everything, they don’t stop, they don’t leave me alone.”

 

Even in the heavy dim just cut by the nightlight Charlie could see confusion melt to almost horror on Ian’s face. That was further than most got. Most went from confusion to ‘oh god you’re some kind of psycho freak’. Charlie wasn’t sure that horror was better than ‘psycho freak’ but horror was at least some kind of comprehension, more than psycho freak.

 

“You don’t have to…”

 

“Stop.” Charlie glared.

 

Ian closed his eyes and grated out, “Don’t ask...”

 

“Not gonna.” Charlie reassured him, still massaging his hand, thumb slipping up to brush over the pulse point in Ian’s wrist. Still a little fast but steady, and he’d stopped that _breathing_. The worst of the nightmare’s grip let go, that was a start.

 

Silence didn’t worry Charlie. Marshall preferred to ignore Charlie’s presence entirely even if he’d grab Charlie’s hand and not let go after a nightmare, then give Charlie hell about fag holding hands and Charlie wasn’t his type. Marshall was an ass, it was probably physically impossible for Marshall not to be an ass. Charlie just sat and waited, massaged Ian’s hand, sliding his thumb up over the pulse point in his wrist every so often.

 

Ian finally took a heavy breath and exhaled shakily.

 

“Gonna turn the lamp on.” Charlie whispered, letting go with one hand to reach for the lamp on the bedside table.

 

“I—“

 

“Shower will help you settle down.”

 

Ian swallowed and just looked at him.

 

“Four years of Marshall’s nightmares. Nightmares are no big deal around here. And no I’m not asking, even if my clearance level is probably high enough, I’m not asking.”

 

“Your clearance level is probably a few light years beyond mine.” Ian said somewhat disgruntled about that fact. 

 

Charlie wasn’t going to ask what it was about his security clearance level that bugged Ian; that Charlie’s clearance was higher or that Charlie had any kind of security clearance in the first place. “Shower, cocoa and movie.” Charlie insisted stubbornly.

 

“Yeah...okay.”


	5. Crapshoots, Wormholes and Pattern Emergence, June 2005, Los Angeles, California

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sooner this case was over the better. Consequences of Don's subtle attempts at being 'helpful' come to a head with a pattern of fall out coming very clear in hindsight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: canon awkward flirting pursuit by Amita turned one-sided and brought to abrupt halt with a dose of brutal honesty from Charlie.

The afternoon class was a lost cause. Charlie taught it on autopilot and honestly probably would have been better off skipping it entirely. Amita could have taught it for him. It was an entry level class, math basics review that non-math majors tended to go into in droves to cover their gen ed credit hours. He had to wonder what politics were at play that he’d gotten the pissy demand from the Math Department Chair not to miss his class. He’d only missed _two_ so far working with Don, and those covered without an issue by Amita. He had had professors that the freaking course had been taught by the TA, there was a professor on CalSci’s staff, Rodham, who might teach four classes a semester! Show up in the classroom four times a semester not teach four separate courses. Rodham’s TA’s covered them all. Charlie been less than happy that ‘math for dummies’ had been shoved at him for the summer session. He hadn’t been intending on teaching any summer classes. He never taught summer classes. And the math for dummies class was actually _Rodham’s_ class. 

 

Charlie had only agreed with the understanding Amita would be teaching occasionally up to full half of the classes, summer was when he got caught up on his projects and he had two conferences he was giving presentations at one in July and one in August, and Larry had one in August Charlie was along for having done the math as usual for Larry. The Math-For-Dummies bunch were a good group, and the class had been tossed in the summer session out due to begging from other departments because they had almost sixty students desperately needing the required class, in seventeen cases the one gen ed holding them back from their bachelor degree. It was a good group, and getting someone to not hate math was always great, but the pissiness that he _had_ to be there was ridiculous. Whoever wanted to play politics and give him a headache was going to be paying as soon as he had time to figure it out. 

 

A bunch of _crap_ over a math for dummies class, basic math and a group that was only there because they had to have the class, getting a fit and veiled threats from the department dean over _that_ when Charlie’s lesson plans and lectures were meticulously laid out, ready for anyone to pick up—had to be with no notice for NSA work at times, immediate things that took a day or three at the most but couldn’t be timed by a school calendar—and he always made sure he had extra office hours and had groups invade for impromptu Q &A if he did miss teaching one of his advanced classes. Yeah, he wasn’t letting this crap go. Someone was going to get it.

 

The case and trying to figure out the equation for it was eating at him. Ian’s ability to pinpoint the sniper’s position and that he was wrong… well, it wasn’t the first time he was wrong. He just couldn’t figure out _why_ he was wrong. Missing variables obviously, what those variables all included was the problem. He could be wrong. When he was wrong it was usually easier to find where he went wrong and adjust the formula or try a different tact. He was missing variables and that was driving him half out of his mind—the _why_ of how wrong he’d been. Twenty feet was a huge difference.

 

And the kiss he’d gotten before he got out of the car when Ian dropped him off hadn’t helped either. It had been over two months since Ian had a break of a few days to fly out. Ian’s schedule? Well it wasn’t much of a schedule. When he actually had a schedule it was the two months he spent teaching a course at Quantico every year. Otherwise, Ian’s schedule was at the whim of fugitives who needed tracked down or the occasional ‘borrowing’ by other agencies for his sniper abilities. Making the best of what time they could carve out wasn’t…anything but normal with Ian’s cases. He hadn’t seen his husband in two months, got kissed half out of his mind and had him buttoning up his suitcoat to try to have the tails preserve a bit of dignity. Not even concentrating on the crap politics being played about the math for dummies class did much to help preserve his dignity after a kiss like that. Thinking and walking were almost too much to ask after a kiss like that, let alone holding onto a few scraps of dignity.

 

Don had called, left a voicemail and then a half dozen more worried if he’d gotten to CalSci without issue. He hadn’t bit Don’s head off for the insult to Ian over that, instead had a fit he had been _in class_ which had been the reason he’d left the scene in the first place.

 

He escaped campus before he got cornered again by Larry over some calculations he needed or, honestly, Amita. The sooner she found out he was married the better. She didn’t act unprofessionally, and she was honestly an amazing TA, but as the year had went on the TA he’d taken on in sloppy t-shirts and no makeup had suddenly shown up everywhere with full make up, fixed hair and ever increasingly skimpier tops. At first Charlie had thought she’d gotten herself a boyfriend or something. No, just a crush. On him. He really didn’t know how to deal with it, how he could without…he just ignored it. 

 

Everyone expected a level of oblivious from him. That worked in his favor this time and he played as oblivious as possible. That just seemed to lower her neckline. She was beautiful, brilliant, and he was almost to the point he just wanted to run and hide when he saw her coming because there was no way out of this that wasn’t going to be…he couldn’t find an equation that it wouldn’t be…messy. He didn’t want to hurt her, and if he didn’t have Ian, he just might be interested, but he had Ian and no intentions of letting Ian go ever. Amita was just making him want to run and hide.

 

He honestly preferred men. He had absolutely no aversion to women, none at all, women were fantastic. But he preferred men, and he’d fallen head over heels irrevocably forever in love with Ian when he was still seventeen. Charlie really had no idea how he’d ever been lucky enough that Ian fell right back. It still pissed him off, how Ian had actively encouraged Charlie to date, to do whatever and whoever the first couple years they were together, and then just stayed silent for a good three years after that while Charlie continued on getting more and more pissed Ian would never say a word. Looking back, Charlie could see Ian’s point, realized now what it had been, and he could honestly say he had absolutely no doubts, or any curiosity left unsatisfied, Ian was what he wanted, all he wanted. 

 

Ian spent how much time holding back, hanging back, and never initiating anything. Doing everything in his power to give Charlie the room and time to grow up, which he hadn’t really thought he needed then but didn’t regret now. Loved Ian all the more for giving him the room and time to grow up. Even if how Ian went about it had pissed him off so badly at the time, and still made Charlie pissed off at both of Ian and himself for some of it.

 

Ian wanted kids, didn’t think it was likely ever to happen but wanted kids enough to have thought it through. How had he not known that? Ranie had known that. Hindsight of the data Charlie had, it was actually kind of obvious. Ian had called him the smartest idiot in the world more than once. He had a point on that.

~*~

Too many variables. He was getting nowhere on the calculations because finding the variables was eating up everything. He was almost glad when Amita showed up out of the blue, or well, her usual showing up a lot, with some ridiculous reason he didn’t remember two seconds after he heard it and answered the question she had. 

 

The urge to ask if she’d heard of text messages was overwhelming. The rather nasty urge to ask where the rest of her shirt was even stronger. He was tempted to go through student files and try to find an equation for a fair match for Amita and…he wasn’t sure how he’d orchestrate some kind of meeting, _anything_ to get her focus off him. It was getting to be an issue. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings. He didn’t want to deal with the fallout from this he knew was coming. And the clearances involved with being his TA were another thing. Going through and getting a new TA and assistant would be a bitch. He didn’t really have time for that now.

 

He started babbling about the case, either she’d run or be useful. He couldn’t quite stop himself from pretending to notice her top, “Oh…sorry, you’re dressed…you have a date? That’s fantastic! I don’t want to keep you…”

 

The look he got for a split second was absolutely murderous, then a bright smile, she was free, did he need help? And a need to do laundry excuse. How stupid she thought he was at times was infuriating. He wasn’t that oblivious. Yes, he missed the fact that his husband liked the idea of kids, but kids were to terrifying to contemplate. The thought of a child like him was enough to bring his brain to a very painful stop in sheer terror. Amita’s ‘laundry’ issue was just insulting. Good grief, Larry’s TA James noticed and James was every bit as oblivious as it was assumed Charlie was and gayer than Ian and Ian never even attempted to force himself to look at a woman or touched one.

 

He set her on finding the composition of bullets, the lead and powder used in them, variables by caliber and manufacturer and dove into the rest of his calculations.

 

He growled when his phone went off in his pocket. He caught sight of Amita’s shocked gaping out of the corner of his eye. _Don has agent on you. Parked across the street_ was the text from Ian.

 

 _Damn it!_ Charlie sent back with some quiet cussing that had Amita’s eyes even wider. Charlie had worked how many cases now and Don never assigned an agent to sit across the street before. Every aspect of this case at the moment said it was a waste of time, money and resources to have someone keeping watch on Charlie, and most of all, it kept his husband from sneaking over for a while. Okay the husband sneaking over was…wrong. He really didn’t want to contemplate how it would have gone if he’d brought Ian home after they’d gotten married. He really didn’t. He had been a wreck, Ian hadn’t been much better. Don…well, Don was Don. And his dad had absolutely been destroyed. Charlie was done with it though. His dad would….well, he’d come around. Don, who knew. But enough. He’d done everything in his power to show them he wasn’t the weird freak of a little kid having meltdowns because the numbers were too much and never sleeping any more.

 

The numbers still pushed him to the edge, he still didn’t sleep all that much but he wasn’t a little kid. And really, he was going to just give up if they couldn’t get that through their heads. His mom was gone, his dad was at least not the terrifying lost he had been; there wasn’t much point in even trying anymore. He’d given it his best shot.

 

_What?_

 

_AMITA!_

 

_Larry?_

 

Charlie groaned. Larry would be needling about the calculations Charlie didn’t have done yet, but any buffer from Amita just now would be great. _Please!!!!!_

 

_I’ll text him._

 

_Love you_

 

_Love you too, Prof._

 

“What was that?” Amita demanded, looking and acting like she fully expected a detailed answer.

 

Charlie gave her a baleful glare. That was really none of her damned business. The _demand_ of what it was rather than a polite ‘everything okay’ or something really set his teeth on edge. “My husband ran into a problem with his work.” His tone was downright pissy and hostile and he didn’t care.

 

She gasped. “You don’t have to be rude!”

 

He was rude? An absolutely honest answer, even if she had no idea how honest it was and the problem was Don’s overprotectiveness out of nowhere, was rude, but the demand of what his personal messages were was entirely her right by the way she was acting.

 

Charlie gave a tight smile. “I want this case over. We have a sniper on the loose and people are dying.” 

 

And the sooner the case was over, he could deal with his dad and Don and _finally_ get on with his life with Ian after. Don ending up in the FBI had been as much a factor as anything else. Charlie would never have risked the target painted on Ian’s back for years. Ian almost had his twenty in, a year to go, and his reputation so properly terrifying as well as the fact he almost always worked alone save for when he was teaching at Quantico the last four years… FBI office gossip was worse than academia, and Ian was top shot in the FBI, and third ranked shooter in the world. It wasn’t like he just had to worry about the local office, especially when he didn’t really _have_ a local office beyond the few months he taught each year. Ian had plenty of his own reasons for keeping their relationship need-to-know. Ian’s reasons had included Don as well when it came down to it.

 

“If it’s that stressful, maybe you shouldn’t be working for the FBI,” Amita huffed. “And Don warned me you could be just completely a jerk. I didn’t believe him. Your dad said…”

 

“Amita, if you are wise, any advice my brother gave you in regards to me, should be entirely ignored. Don knows absolutely nothing about me or my life. He has a lot of left over jealous spite from childhood and a lot of seriously wrong delusions about me. So does my dad for that matter, dad has no clue what I’ve done, who my friends are beyond Larry, has no idea of most government work I’ve done, people I’ve met, know, consider family. For starters, both of them will try to tell you I’ve never been in a relationship which couldn’t be farther from the truth. And their delusions persist because they never ask, and simply presume they know everything. You’re a great TA, brilliant, your work is invaluable, but—if you are listening to any encouragement from them, especially on the subject of me, we have a serious problem. If your wardrobe changes over the course of this last year are for yourself, fine, fantastic, I’m uncomfortable as hell with them and would prefer you dressed just slightly more professionally, you’re a TA, not a high schooler and teaching a class is not a day out with your friends, but even if I don’t care for some of the more plunging necklines, like the one you’re wearing, you’ve never completely crossed the line into utterly inappropriate even if they’ve not really been professionally appropriate, I’ve bitten my tongue. Second of all, I’m gay, the necklines are entirely wasted if they’re for my benefit.” The last was an exaggeration, but close enough. He had Ian and no interest looking anywhere else and he was not giving her anything to latch onto with the turn of this conversation and her not so direct defense at being called on her own behavior was ‘Don said’ and his dad said!

 

“Don sure doesn’t think you’re gay—“

 

“I didn’t talk to him more than strained pass the rolls at a holiday dinner for _SEVENTEEN YEARS_ from when I went to college at thirteen until I moved back in here at thirty! And the only reason I started talking to him at all was we both ended up in the house when mom was dying of cancer. Mom knew, mom always knew, Dad and Don did not. There were reasons for that and I sure wasn’t going to kick that hornet’s nest when mom was dying. And I’ve played keep the peace here since because Dad was terrifyingly lost the first year and just barely coming out of that now! My brother knows absolutely nothing about me but his own imagination. You are my TA, I am your faculty advisor, and you have absolutely no right to my personal life. Please refrain from demanding answers about it or any presumptions on myself and please, please, stop taking advice on how to get my attention from my brother since your arguments make it sound like that is what you have been doing. You are here, to help with the calculations for an FBI case, that is beyond the purview of your normal duties and I appreciate it, and all the extra hassle you have gone through to get the clearance to assist with the FBI consulting work. You are brilliant, you are any teacher’s dream student and an absolutely awesome TA. I am thrilled to have you as a student and you’re invaluable with how far above and beyond you’ve gone as my assistant, but you have no right to demand any personal information from me I don’t volunteer. None. I am your professor and your boss, the end. That’s all that our relationship can be, and all that I will ever allow it to be. Especially when you’re quoting my brother at me. I’ll write you letters of recommendation and put the bug in Dr. Phelps ear that you’ll be available for TA for the fall semester. She had Calvin Reddington but he’s gotten his degree and took a position at Texas A &M. If you prefer not to work out the summer semester, I’ll understand and no hard feelings, it will not influence the recommendations I’ll write. Now or next year when you’re applying for positions. You will need to find someone else to TA for starting with this fall semester. You trying to correct my behavior into something you wish and spouting the words Don said and my dad said is beyond the pale, beyond any professional conduct when I have never once invited you into my personal business or gave the least hint I would ever. And is the absolute one thing that I will never tolerate and there are no second chances on.”

 

“And your commenting on my wardrobe—“

 

“Ms. Ramanujan, I have been called into the Dean’s office over your wardrobe choices and ordered to do something about them because they were unprofessional and not the image CalSci would like to present. I have had more snide comments and innuendo over the course of the past semester and a half about your wardrobe that I can count-- _than I can count_ and numbers are something I cannot escape. Ever. I couldn’t care less about your wardrobe choices as long as they don’t affect my professional life, but considering the amount of grief and complaints I have gotten about your wardrobe choices, I am not entirely out of line bringing it up once when you’re telling me my brother’s severely deluded opinion on my sexual preferences. The top you have on right now is lovely, absolutely appropriate for a day out shopping or the movies and a few drinks with your friends or an afternoon date, not for a teaching assistant position.”

 

Shock was melting away to something between tears and fury on her face. Charlie’s head pounded, he had not wanted this at all, and really had no patience at the moment to handle it tactfully and he knew it.

 

“You think spouting off some kind of antiquated—“

 

“Ms. Ramanujan, I assure you I would be fired so fast my head would spin if I showed up to teach with the hem of my pant legs as short as your skirt was last week or with a shirt that bared my stomach and was cut from my shoulders in a curving deep V to nearly nipple level. You are a very intelligent, absolutely brilliant woman, the concept of professionally appropriate clothing should not be that difficult, even as casual and relaxed as CalSci can be, there are limits. I told the dean to politely go fuck himself, while you were pushing it, you were still a student and so what, you were bright enough to figure out what was and wasn’t appropriate and simply enjoying the bit of freedom to dress as you wished and it was doing wonders for your confidence. Whether the last is true or not, I have no idea, but it shut that old bastard up, at least once he was done bitching at me that time he hasn’t said anything since especially when I pointed out I was not opening myself or CalSci up for a sexual harassment suit over suggesting your fondness for midriff baring shirts wasn’t appropriate work attire. I have ignored every bit of rumor, innuendo and absolute crude stupidity I have gotten over your attire and speculations on how I’ve benefitted from it. Well no, I revisited my own college days to avenge your honor with a couple of the worst commentators they were so disgustingly far out of line. Even enlisted Larry to help, just like he did back then when the rugby team went at a friend of mine. If you can quote my brother’s delusions on my sexuality, then I can give you a little professional advice, when in the classroom in a professional capacity even just as a TA, have a top on that doesn’t leave your midriff bare and keep your hemline at least moderately closer to your knee than your groin when you wear a skirt. You’re far too intelligent and classy to really need that said. Be honest, what respect would you have if you had a teacher in high school or even a professor now who was in front of the classroom in the clothing you’ve worn even on days you knew I would be having you teaching?”

 

The last seemed to sink in if the look on her face was anything to go by.

 

“Exactly. Stop sabotaging yourself and your career. Now, you are getting glowing references to Dr Phelps and again next spring when you’re applying for employment, your intelligence is amazing, your work absolutely exemplary, that we have a personality conflict has no bearing on that. As far as Dr. Phelps or anyone else will be concerned, my work for the FBI was understandably the deal breaker as far as workload and stress, understandable and considering you brought Don into this conversation, the absolute truth. We are forgetting this conversation entirely. The only question is are you working out the summer or not. No reprecussions either way.”

 

“I’m working out the summer,” she said in a huff and lifted her chin.

 

“Fine, if you’re working now, still assisting on FBI related work rather than just CalSci, I need bullet compositions.”

 

“Fine.” She said tightly. 

 

Charlie really hoped this issue was settled. And now he needed a new TA. He turned his attention to the chalkboard and hoped she took the hint and actually looked up the bullet compositions he needed to factor in. She mostly did, slowly and glaring at him a good bit, but mostly did.

 

Larry showed up twenty minutes later, predictably starting in on his calculations he needed done. Charlie stopped dead at the turn the conversation took gaping at Larry.

 

“Wormholes?” Charlie managed. “I didn’t know you wanted kids…”

 

Wormholes. And Crapshoots. Huh. Talk about random pattern emergence. Ian and Larry both coming up with thinking about kids, well, at least saying so on the same day. Reemergence of Don’s alternating pattern of vindictive spite, passive-aggressive bullshit and trying to force Charlie in a box that fit Don’s delusions. Now that he thought about it, everything coming to a head calling Amita off, the most likely candidate for the political bullshit and petty annoyances he’d had this past semester was probably the Math department’s dean, especially with his being stuck with freaking Rodham’s ‘math for dummies’ course that generally wasn’t even offered in the summer.

 

Pattern.

 

The rate of shootings were increasing, was there a pattern in that? Charlie wiped the chalkboard. Drag coefficients were getting him nowhere. Timing? There was _something_ that he was missing but what? Was there a pattern in the seemingly randomness that was useful?

 

The sooner this case was over, the better.


	6. November/December 2003, Las Vegas, Nevada

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Charlie was in Stanford, Ian simply came home between cases even if they technically had separate residences. They have just over a week in Vegas, Charlie doesn't feel a bit guilty about ditching Larry with their cluster of grad students.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ina= mother in tagalog, or so said google

Thanksgiving had been a wretched affair, the first without his mom. Charlie was just relieved his dad was worrying and fussing at Don who was hobbling around on crutches after wrenching his knee and taking a tumble chasing a suspect down stairs. He really didn’t know what he would have done if his dad had tried to follow him and Larry to the conference. He’d escaped still bloated from the meal to get to the airport on time with Larry. They had six doctorate students due to defend their theses at the end of the spring semester. Larry had actually worried about the group with them, Charlie didn’t care. They weren’t likely to run into Don or his father or carry on a conversation with them, and they’d be scattered well away from CalSci soon enough. The one Charlie didn’t trust was actually going to be covering his classes, put it as an opportunity to have that on his resume. Devon Simpson reminded Charlie way too much of Marshall Penfield. Charlie just wasn’t dealing with another Marshall encroaching on his private life.

 

Not that there was a hell of a lot to do with his classes. He had assigned a set of essays and several problems for each of his classes, had the lectures all taped and set to play and would be available somewhat at least by email and if possible phone appointments. He trusted his students, they could do it. And this conference had been in the works for almost a year, so the plotting to keep classes running smoothly was as good as it was going to get.

 

_Am almost at hotel, meet me by entrance?_

 

_see you in a few professor_

 

Charlie took a deep breath. “My partner is going to be able to attend this conference. Who is going to be stupid?” he demanded of the group in the van.

 

“Partner?”

 

“Sounds slightly more professional than my lover of fifteen years now, doesn’t it?”

 

Larry snorted. “I wouldn’t worry much, Charles, Ian will take care of any…lack of reason.”

 

“Your partner’s name is Ian? Is he presenting? What field is he in?”

 

“Long range target elimination.” Charlie said dryly. He avoided looking at Larry who was just as amused by the wide eyes.

 

“Oh I know. Rather shocking. I’ve had time to get used to it, and it still makes me wonder about the infiniteness of improbabilities.”

 

“Thanks, Larry.” Charlie laughed.

 

“You and Ian are quite remarkable together, so much so it reaffirms ones belief in fate.”

 

“Do not start. I’m going to have to put up with Marshall,” Charlie grumbled. “I don’t believe in fate and I don’t want to hear fairy tales just now.”

 

Larry laughed at him.

 

“This…has got to be the weirdest trip I’ve ever had with a teacher of any kind and we just landed,” Andrew Chang said.

 

“Nothing counts as surreal until your faculty advisor takes you on spring break.” Charlie grinned at Andrew. “This is a working trip, there are several lectures and presentations that I’ve given you the lists of and marked what would be of particular interest to your chosen specialties. Do not sign contracts, do not agree to anything, refer any headhunters to me or Larry. We have the contacts to see them vetted and make sure they are who they say they are. There will be a number of federal agencies as well as private research facilities and…odds are a few who are not quite what they say they are. Always seems to be a handful that slip their way through. They’re offering all of the presentations and lectures on DVD this year, if there are any you’d be interested in let me know. I’ll have them shipped to me and then forwarded on to you, because even if they’re promised in April, they’ll probably show up in July if past experience is anything to go by. Tomorrow night is a dinner, those of you who want to go to that, will be attending with Larry. Stay with Larry. Seriously. The last time they held this particular conference five years ago, there were some issues with a few…less than honest headhunters. You all have my number and Larry’s use it. Larry has Ian’s too. Tomorrow night Ian’s brother is riding at the rodeo championship thing…”

 

“What’s his brother’s name?” Caity McKinley asked. She was the apple of Larry’s eye the last few years, absolutely brilliant girl who had spent most of her undergrad years playing catch up, brilliance had her lagging with a foundation of shoddy schools growing up. 

 

“You follow rodeo? Huh. Learn something new every day. Daniel Edgerton?”

 

Caity’s jaw dropped open.

 

“You recognize Daniel’s name?”

 

“Yeah.” Caity squeaked, grey eyes about ready to fall right out of her head they were so wide. “Not just from rodeo. My dad works for the Colonel. Has since I was a junior in high school.”

 

Charlie stared at her a moment. “God it has been that long since I’ve had a chance to actually get to the ranch. I—honestly—I think I’ve met your dad, Bill, right? I was still there the day he came to interview and the Colonel was showing him around. Jessica and I had been out riding. Ian had gotten called off the night before so I was on my own for the last day. Small world.”

 

Caity was staring at him like he’d grown a second head.

 

“What?”

 

“Brain….exploded. You…and _Ian_.” Caity stammered out. “Ian is the scariest person I’ve met in my life. You…and _Ian_.”

 

Charlie laughed at that. Ian purposely made himself the scariest person most met, and rarely let that guard down. “I can assure you, Ian really isn’t that scary. Well, yes he is that scary, he just isn’t when he’s not given a reason to be.”

 

Caity gaped.

 

Chandni Sengupta and Kenneth Joh weren’t any better. The conversation seemed to have lost Richard Davis and Cameron Whitney all together. 

 

“Back on track, if you are approached by headhunters, do not agree to anything. Ask for a card and do your best to memorize a description.” Charlie said. Kenneth squirmed slightly. “I realize facial recognition is difficult for you Kenneth, but a size and build and skin tone, details of voice, accent and speech patterns will help immensely. Find either Larry or myself, and we will do our best to ascertain that the offer is valid, legal as far as the United States government is concerned and not a situation where you are likely to get involved in a major project, do immense amounts of work and get no credit. There’s plenty of that as well. Every last one of you are listed as junior contributors to Larry’s project. Kenneth, Chandni and Devon have been listed on my papers. There are plenty, even offering legitimate work, who will take your work and claim all credit. We’re not trying to limit your opportunities, merely get you in the right direction and contacts that will benefit your careers…and there’s Brett. If you can’t find me or Larry, go to Brett. He’s likely to know where I am and he’ll be helpful. Kenneth…well, crap, there—Brett doesn’t have anything that is readily easily identifiable. Also, any one of you that looks twice at Corazon will have your eyes gouged out by the number three sniper in the world and a pair of stuntmen. Cori doesn’t look it but she is sixteen and has a group of very very overprotective uncles. You don’t want to know what would happen if you did more than look.”

 

“Really Charles…” Larry shook his head trying not to laugh. “Maiza and Benigno are going to be here?”

 

“Ina found out we were going to be here and is bringing everyone because it’s been two years since Ian had the chance to visit her and nearly six since I have. Ian, Drigo and Roddy most certainly would, and I can calculate least damage for maximum pain to extend things to the fullest possible potential.” Charlie said flatly. Actually, if anyone got out of line with Corazon, they’d better hope Ian, Charlie, Drigo and Roddy got to them first. Maiza, Ranie and Ian’s mother, Malaya, were much more terrifying.

 

Caity stared a second. “I take that back, it totally makes sense you’re with Ian. You might be scarier than he is.”

 

Larry chuckled shaking his head. “Needless to say, Charles will likely not be available from our arrival until late tomorrow morning.”

 

Charlie looked at Larry slightly worried.

 

“Nonsense. I don’t expect otherwise. You’ll be there for the presentation and Q&A after it,” Larry said doing his best to look stern, concern in his eyes and a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

 

Ian had managed to get to LA three times in the last two months, only for a night each time and Charlie had only managed to get away from his dad for a few hours. He hadn’t snuck around or hid when he was a teenager! At least not from his mom, and he hadn’t been home for much more than a couple weeks visit since he was thirteen. Not until his mom got sick. He’d taken the job at CalSci and moved back to LA, moved into the house at both his parents’ insistence. If his mother hadn’t asked, he would have moved out long since once Don moved back, transferred to LA. Don thankfully had only been in the house two months and then had gotten his own place. His mom had asked him to keep an eye on his dad. Don…Don was too bitter, too something, for all that he might be the one closer to their dad, he had too many blind spots and too many chips on his shoulder. Charlie might not notice right away so lost in the numbers, but Don would deliberately put his head in the sand and ignore.

 

Charlie had promised. And he’d stayed. Stayed in the house and watching out for his dad as best as he and Larry could. Larry played chess with him some and discussed philosophy. His dad ate for the simple fact he didn’t waste food and he cooked for Charlie too. Charlie hadn’t been eating at the house much but his dad cooked all the same, and ate it so it didn’t go to waste, so that was something. His dad was so broken and lost, Charlie was afraid that one morning his dad just wasn’t going to wake up. That his would just die of a broken heart, simply couldn’t live without his mom. Don didn’t think that was an issue and had gotten pissy about the years they’d spent on opposite coasts—which was all Charlie’s fault, Don sneered. But thanks to Charlie, their dad was used to being on his own.

 

So was Charlie, but he—if grief didn’t kill him, the numbers would if something happened to Ian. The numbers pushed him right to the edge with just losing their mom. Six years long distance, until Charlie was nineteen and had his first doctorate, well, Charlie had no illusions how difficult that had to have been. Unlike Don who despite five live-in girlfriends, two he’d gone as far as becoming engaged to, really didn’t have a clue most of the time. Don seemed to equate distance with detachment and even more over the years their parents having often entirely different interests and social groups as a sign they had an absolutely horrible marriage, of course, that was Charlie’s fault too. No relationship of Don’s would have ever withstood six years long distance, or so much divergence in interests, plenty wouldn’t, maybe most wouldn’t, but their parents was _stronger_ because of that, and the divergence in interests. What Don perceived as ruin and impossible-ness in a relationship had been the heart and strength of their parents, and of Ian and Charlie’s.

 

Ian had managed to slip down a few times to visit, and at that, Charlie hadn’t seen him but gotten his dad out of the house for the day and Ian snuck in to see his mom. She’d argued a bit, but neither of them were going to wear her out with the fit Don was likely to have or the fighting, that Alan would get upset and stupid and…they simply weren’t doing that to her. She’d called them both stubborn asses. They were.

 

Ian hadn’t been in the country when she’d taken the turn for the worse. That the chemo and radiation had seemed to be doing it, beating back the cancer despite making her so sick. All of a sudden the cancer sort of…rallied and was everywhere despite the treatments and she was gone a month later before Ian had even known she’d been getting worse, before he’d even gotten back to the country. Malaya and Dean had both flown out—from Manila and Dallas respectively. Attended the funeral with Larry. If Ian hadn’t been able to be there, they had been determined to be there in his place. Malaya had nearly given Charlie a heart attack showing up at the house and bossing everyone about, putting up food brought by the literal ton, arguing Charlie to bed and threatening to drag him there by the ear. His eyes were drooping, the numbers were going to let him take a nap so he was taking a nap if she had to put him in bed herself!

 

That had actually gotten through his father’s grief haze, had him asking how Malaya knew Charlie. She had merely smiled and said she met Charlie and Margaret both when he was still a student at Princeton. Charlie had spent so much time with her oldest Dakila that he called her Ina as much as her own four children did. Yes, four, Dakila, Maiza, Drigo and Ranie. And five grandchildren; Corazon, Aian, Rosauro, Dalisay and Caloy. It had taken him a minute to put together that she was actually talking about Ian, whose middle name was Dakila. Charlie barely bothered to remember his own middle name was Matthew—it was to have been Jacob then a friend of his mother’s had died only a few weeks before Charlie was born. Ian’s middle name was a random bit of trivia that he hadn’t even realized he knew until Malaya said that.

 

Ian’s mother was kind of terrifying. Ian had always sworn it was a _very good thing_ their mothers had half a globe in physical distance keeping them from being partners in crime. Charlie had always agreed wholeheartedly. And never so much so as the evening after his mother’s funeral. Dean’s presence never got mentioned by his father, but then again, his father might not have noticed Dean, Charlie barely did and Dean was the one that had herded Charlie up to his room and put him to bed. Hauled Don’s drunk ass up and poured him into his bed, Malaya handled his father and sorted out the overflowing fridge and counter, separating and freezing things in portions while his father sat at the kitchen table in a terrifying haze under Malaya’s watch.

 

Dean had managed to pull strings somehow. People who had owed Dean favors from years ago when he was still Special Forces. Evidently Colonel Dean Edgerton was still something of a legend in Special Forces. And Colonel Dean Edgerton was the son of General Jack Edgerton who was practically a rock star of an icon in military intelligence circles. Dean had managed to get to the base…somewhere--Charlie wasn’t sure where—and had been there waiting for Ian when his mission was over, had been the one to deliver the news in person and fly back to the states with Ian.

 

That haze had maybe lifted some for his dad, not much. With Thanksgiving, and Hanukkah just around the corner, the haze was back, just as strong in some ways. Don was supposed to be off for the four day weekend had been planning on staying at the house, drinking enough beer for a couple of frat parties Charlie had made sure was in the fridge (and more in the garage) and watching sports on TV. Don being a drunk asshole on the couch would at least be company for their dad. If Don wasn’t pouting and drunk on his own couch since their dad had read him the riot act, Don pissy that Charlie was leaving, it was Larry’s presentation, what did he need to go for? 

 

Their dad pointed out how much Charlie had done for their mother the last few months, while Don visited an hour a few times a week as work permitted. Charlie had a full time job, without research projects and students at crazy hours and his work on Larry’s projects, as well as a few others. His dad had even pulled out the papers Charlie had published the past year, five of them—sleep hadn’t been all that common of an occurrence, stress from his mother’s illness sending the numbers into overdrive. Charlie hadn’t quite realized his dad knew any of them were published, and he had no idea how he had managed to get a hold of copies of the journals (Charlie suspected and blamed Larry but never bothered with confirmation). Charlie deserved the break and whatever fun or relaxation and academic conference might provide. Don’s rejoinder was asking if there was a pocket protector pageant.

 

Charlie had wavered a minute, considered staying home, Ian would understand and Charlie knew that. His dad had all but shoved him out the door, seen that somehow. Told him to go have fun at the conference. That alone had Charlie convinced that his dad would still be there and no worse off when he got back. Don actually around would be a bonus. His dad would have the distraction of harping at Don he drank too much.

 

The group of students were Larry’s problem until Saturday morning. Ian was standing just inside the hotel lobby looking as worn as Charlie felt, and looking absolutely edible in black cowboy boots, faded blue jeans that fit perfectly and a plain black oxford with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

 

“And we have lost Dr. Eppes entirely,” Larry laughed. “Colonel, good to see you again.”

 

“Doc. That your bunch there?” Charlie hadn’t even noticed Dean Edgerton until he spoke, all Charlie’s attention was on Ian.

 

“Indeed it is. You know Caitlyn…” Larry started introductions that Charlie couldn’t be bothered to listen to.

 

“Dad’ll help Larry get everyone sorted.” Ian said grabbing one of Charlie’s bags, wrapping his other arm around Charlie.

 

“Good. I should feel bad but I don’t,” Charlie sighed and let Ian steer him toward the bank of elevators without a second thought or a glance back. The past year and a half since his mom got sick had been hell and he’d missed Ian so much, when Charlie had been at Stanford, Ian was at least there regularly, or as regularly as cases allowed. While Ian kept a place in Virginia, a small efficiency studio that served for storage and when he was at Quantico, home had been with Charlie, and any downtime he’d been there. Since Charlie had moved back to Pasadena it had been hotel rooms and a text where Ian was if Charlie could get away. In Stanford, Ian had simply come home.

 

“If I do not get this damn thing out in the next five seconds,” Ian grumbled, cheeks darkening as the room door shut behind them.

 

Charlie stared at Ian in shock. 

 

“Plug,” Ian muttered, flushing darker.

 

Charlie’s mouth opened, closed, opened again trying to form any kind of thought.

 

“Never again.” 

 

“Okay….Don’t like it?” Charlie managed, barely. Brain function had definitely taken a hit with blood rushing southward at the thought of Ian putting the plug in.

 

“No,” was bit out tightly.

 

Charlie pulled Ian’s head down for a soft kiss. “Okay, yeah, brain misfiring and numbers jumbled. Never dreamed you’d ever do something like that. Didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

 

“No,” this said quieter, reassuring.

 

Charlie sucked lightly at Ian’s bottom lip. “Always so tense, you better not have hurt yourself.” 

 

Charlie pulled away and locked the deadbolt on the door. He vaguely took in the fact that the room was a smaller ‘suite’, if it could exactly be called that—a single large room and a bathroom—but the only bed was obscenely large and there was an in room jacuzzi and bar. The bar had a few normal size bottles Ian had likely brought himself. Lower end ‘honeymoon suite’ of sorts. Several floors below the high roller suites that were absolutely obscenely hedonistic. Ian had lube and condoms out on the one nightstand by the bed.

 

“Forget the bag let’s get you taken care of first.” Charlie murmured taking the suitcase Ian still held and dropping it on the floor. He steered Ian toward the bed and reached for his belt undoing his jeans and pushing them down out of the way. More careful with the compression shorts that were the reason Ian’s just loose enough jeans weren’t so obviously tented.

 

Charlie reached for a couple of the ridiculous amount of pillows at the head of the bed and tossed them a little further down. “Lay down so I can get it.”

 

Ian did, not even a protest about his boots still on or jeans and underwear tangled at his knees. Charlie nearly groaned. Jeans tangled around his knees, shirt still on, just his ass and thighs bared. Ass angled up the way he settled on the pillows, hole stretched and clenching around the plug. Charlie moved settling behind Ian, almost pinning him down with a knee on the tangle of jeans.

 

“Charlie…”

 

“Shh, shh,” Charlie murmured and automatically reached, thumbs digging in just above and either side of Ian’s tailbone, at the very base of his spine sliding up no more than the length of his thumbs, slowly then circling around back to starting point. The knot of muscle there unrelenting. If there was a rail or crate or something to get knocked into, if a job had case had gone that wrong that there was a fight on takedown, that was the spot that was going to take the hit, Ian slammed into whatever. If there was a vertebrae that was going to have joint and muscle flare, get slightly out of alignment, for Ian it was that one at the very base of his spine. Too many railings, crates and tables slammed into over the years, too many strains climbing…everything, there were two more spots up higher, between his shoulder blades, tension leaned more to the right there. The shoulder that had been dislocated twice, same shoulder that got the battering of recoil of gun butts. The base of his spine was where there were always knots though. Charlie would swear a tension headache for Ian settled into the knots at the very base of his spine more than at his temples or behind his eyes.

 

Ian gave a soft growl as Charlie’s thumbs dug into the knots a second time.

 

“Shh, don’t want to hurt you taking it out. Is it much wider inside than the base?”

 

“No, not that big, bit smaller than you over all. “ Ian grated out with a groan and an almost involuntary shift as Charlie found just the spot in the knot on the left side of the base of Ian’s spine. “Idea was for you to take it out and fuck me, nothing more.”

 

“Mmm, still can if you’re not sore. Leaving it in the problem more than size.”

 

“Yeah….and you’re going to. Didn’t put up with the annoying fucking thing to not have you.”

 

Charlie slid his hand down over Ian’s ass cheek, moving to the base of the plug. Ian made a strangled sound as he slowly eased it out. “Fuck…” Charlie breathed. “If it’s just leaving it in that’s the problem, might have to keep this for a bit, fuck you with it while I go down on you.”

 

“Professor,” Ian growled.

 

Charlie reached for the lube. The cap lost somewhere and Charlie didn’t really give a damn where. Two slicked fingers eased carefully into Ian, stretched and taking them like nothing. Ian rocked back against his hand with a growl, every muscle taut to the point he was nearly vibrating.

 

 _”Charlie!”_ was snarled out, so far beyond a demand it was almost a threat.

 

Charlie ignored the condoms, fumbled undoing his own fly with fingers not being the most cooperative. He slicked himself up and slowly pressed into Ian. "God I’ve missed you,” Charlie rasped out, almost falling forward onto his elbows.

 

“Missed you too.” Ian got out wriggling up, pressing his hips back against Charlie, Charlie eased his own hips back just a fraction before rocking back into Ian. “Damn it.”

 

Charlie pressed a kiss to Ian’s shoulder, wishing it was skin instead of shirt. He managed to shift enough to reach for Ian’s hand and move it down. “Not lasting long.”

 

He groaned at the awkward shift, Ian working his hand under himself.

 

His jeans were half in the way hampering everything, Ian’s weren’t any better and maybe circulation getting cut off to his calf with Charlie kneeling on. Ian didn’t take long, already uncomfortably to the edge by the plug and his clenching around Charlie, took him right over the edge too, toes curling inside his tennis shoes—and his big toe managing to go through the hole in the sock and tangling uncomfortably. 

 

“Do you know how much I hate the feeling of come leaking out of my ass,” Ian muttered, not sounding too put out at all, just had to make the obligatory complaint.

 

Charlie laughed. “God I’ve missed you.” He eased back out of Ian with a groan, Ian making a little hiss that said the plug had irritated some. He managed to roll to Ian’s side as gracefully as could be managed considering his jeans were still around his thighs. He wriggled his toe. That only managed to get the sock hole more aggravating around his big toe.

 

Ian followed half draped across Charlie’s chest a moment later and kissing him. Ian’s stomach rumbled loudly, making noises worthy of a cartoon which had Charlie breaking the kiss. “Did you eat at all today?”

 

“Nervous wreck, worried something would come up with Alan that you’d cancel at the last minute.” Ian answered.

 

“Almost did, Dad’s a mess. Don pissed him off royally though. He’s busy being pissed off at Don drinking too much and acting like an ass, he’ll be okay. Pissed off at Don is a lot better than….how lost he is.”

 

Ian’s stomach rumbled again.

 

Charlie groaned and pressed a quick kiss against Ian’s lips. “Please tell me ina didn’t notice you not eating today.”

 

“They’re not getting here til Midnight, planning on sleeping most of tomorrow.”

 

“Good, I really don’t want to wake up to her somehow getting through the deadbolt and demanding you get fed.”

 

“She would.”

 

“Yes she would.” Charlie smiled. “Shower and room service?”

 

“Mmm. Sounds good.”


	7. Configuring Angles, June 2005, Los Angeles, California

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pressure of the case is getting everyone, but Don's trying to set fire to bridges he doesn't realize exist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: Under pressure Don metaphorically shooting himself in the foot right and left? 
> 
> a few mangled quotes from Sniper Zero undoubtedly (and deliberately) recognizable

The thought of planting his fist in Don Eppes face was entirely too tempting.

 

Don really hadn’t been happy about Ian driving Charlie to CalSci. Even more unhappy since…Charlie was mean to his girlfriend, and Don was blaming Ian for some reason. At least that seemed to be the gist of the not all that coherent ranting next to the car they were supposed to be getting in and driving to the latest shooting scene.

 

“The professor has a girlfriend?” Ian asked struggling very hard not to ball his hands into fists.

 

“Yes!” Don glared.

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“This supposed girlfriend have a name?”

 

“Amita!”

 

Ian snorted. He couldn’t help that. He’d had Charlie hissing in his ear most of the night over the phone. Ranting about both Amita and the numbers not making sense, going in circles mostly. Ian had gone through about enough coffee to have his back teeth floating by the time the sun was coming up. He lost track of how many times he’d started the tiny coffee maker on the dresser of his hotel room that made two cups at a time.

 

“So Charlie got in a fight with a woman I’m not entirely certain isn’t fictional with as much sense as you’ve been making…this is my fault how?”

 

“Don’t even, Edgerton. I know you’re…”

 

“I’m what?”

 

“The Cambrecht case. I heard you. On the phone talking to some freak about sucking his cock.”

 

“Eppes, I have been with the same person since 1989.” Ian shook his head. He’d wondered at the time if Don had heard anything when he’d come barging into Ian’s motel room after that case had wrapped up. Don had never let on he had, until now.

 

“Like I believe that for a minute. I know your type, rootless, shiftless, you’re all about the hunt, the adrenaline, don’t have a family don’t have anything or anyone…”

 

“I don’t have a family?”

 

“When was the last time you spoke to your parents? They even alive. Only child…”

 

“Eppes, my parents are very much alive. I spoke with my dad on the phone just before I flew out here. I talked to my mother last week. She’s traveling this week and trying to keep tract of time difference is way too much when she’s traveling. And I am not an only child. In fact, it was the Bryson case I told you about my youngest sister getting into West Point. I’m the oldest of six. Three younger sisters, two younger brothers, two brother in laws—one I’d claim straight up as brother, the other…well, he’s got to be good in bed or something. My sister hasn’t killed him yet, she puts up with less than our mother, there’s got to be at least one or two redeeming qualities to the man but I’ve never seen them. I also have two nieces and three nephews I spoil rotten every chance I get. Have been threatened with great bodily harm over feeding them too much junk and buying them even more junk.”

 

“Charlie’s not your meal ticket. Stay away from him.”

 

“Meal ticket?” Ian stared in disbelief. Though by that, Don at least had some kind of clue about Charlie’s bank accounts. Maybe. Charlie had bought his parents’ house outright. Didn’t even have a mortgage on the damn thing. Don had to know that much, that Charlie had _something_ saved up. Charlie had done very well for himself. Government contracts like the ones Charlie got, were lucrative. Not life changing in and of themselves in a financial sense but lucrative enough. 

 

Maybe more so for Charlie since other than non-disclosures he went contract by contract, never would sign a contract for more than a single project at a time. The threat of those contracts drying up without longer term commitment had Charlie just shrugging and the NSA, CIA and Pentagon backpedaling, and finally tripling Charlie’s standard fee. Money was simply numbers to Charlie, and to say Charlie was good with numbers was an understatement. Charlie could go on the occasional ridiculous splurge, liked his comforts and could be a bit of a stubborn ass on the subject of he liked what he liked and damn it that was what he wanted but overall beyond having what he needed for his comforts and splurges, Charlie was pretty simple in his wants and needs. Money was numbers, a problem to be worked out—and in money’s case, the proper solution was to increase it exponentially. What happened when you put math in front of Charlie to work out to ideal solution, happened with money, half the time without Charlie even trying.

 

“I know your kind, Edgerton,”

 

“You are the one that requested me out on this case. I don’t know what the hell your problem is, but in case you haven’t noticed we have another shooting victim. We’re supposed to be on the way to the scene, not standing here in the damn garage while you’re having some kind of delusional…reality break or something.”

 

“I promised my mother. Dad and I both did…”

 

Ian stared. “What?”

 

“That we really open our eyes and see Charlie for who he is…and that. He’s always needed taken care of. Amita can take care of him. You will stay away from him.”

 

“Eppes. I have absolutely no designs on anyone but my husband, and you’re….all about you. Isn’t it? Your plans for your brother. You might want to check with him about that. Do you need hauled back upstairs and put on psych leave?”

 

“I promised mom!”

 

“What exactly did you promise your mother, word for word?”

 

Don looked confused. 

 

“What exactly did you promise your mother, word for word?” Ian demanded. Whatever Don had stuck in his head was _not_ anything Margaret would have ever come up with, even half out of her mind with pain and morphine.

 

“She was on a lot of pain medication.”

 

“What exactly did you promise your mother, word for word?”

 

“I don’t remember exactly.”

 

“Paraphrase.”

 

“What business is it of yours?”

 

“You made it my business throwing an insane amount of bullshit at me, making assumptions right and left and knowing absolutely nothing about me. I’ve got to wonder how much you’ve done the same with your brother.”

 

Don glared at him.

 

Ian just sighed. “You know what, Eppes? I think you need to figure out exactly what you promised your mother, and maybe get to actually know your brother. Now, crime scene. Are we going or are you getting marched upstairs to psych?”

 

Don kind of deflated, ran his hand through his hair almost desperately. “Case is…Dad’s been upset about Charlie. I’m _trying_ I promised mom, actually see him and get to know him. I’m trying. He’s…Charlie and reality is not a good mix, and…get him in the world and interacting with people here…aware of…”

 

“Aware of what’s out there. Doesn’t hurt your department’s solve rate, either. Heard rumors of how Major Crimes out here was going and you likely on your way out to Fargo or something.”

 

“Not why I got Charlie working with me. He showed up and volunteered one day and…” Don broke off and shook his head, ran his hand through his hair again.

 

Ian sighed. “Keys. I’m driving.” 

 

Don actually handed over the keys. Leftover habit from when Ian had been his training officer in fugitive retrieval no doubt, but Ian would take it. Thing was, Ian honestly didn’t dislike Don, probably would have liked him if not for all the bullshit he knew of directed at Charlie over the years. Bullshit that Ian had to wonder how played down it was, especially from when they were kids. Margaret’s stories about Don and Charlie when they were small were a hell of a lot more damning than Charlie’s. Charlie was all too willing to see himself as a freak and take blame, less so now than he did when he was younger but still too much. 

 

“You get along with your siblings?”

 

“Yeah. We’re pretty scattered, and my youngest sister is twenty years younger than me, almost to the day. Her birthday’s two days after mine. But yeah, I get along with all of them.” Scattered was an understatement. 

 

Drigo had surfed professionally for a few years, ending up in Australia where he met Roddy—who did stunt work mostly to finance expeditions into the outback and photography of expeditions that Ian would think twice about going on just for _fun_ even if out of all of them, he was the one with actual wilderness survival training in all sorts of climates. The self-centered party boy asshole that Maiza and Ranie described when their mother first married Tomas had turned out okay, especially once their mother kicked Tomas’ ass to the curb and kept Drigo. 

 

Drigo and Roddy had some short documentaries and sold photographs to all sorts of magazines and science journals. Ian lost track of what all exactly. Charlie was after them to write a book series, or at least articles of some kind. Ian thought Rosauro would be the one to get that done. His oldest nephew had the adrenaline junkie streak in spades combined with being as much a geek as Charlie, only Rosauro’s interest was in plants. He’d spent the last two summers with Drigo and Roddy and Ian was pretty sure again this summer. Maiza had been insane the first summer when Rosauro was fourteen, but Drigo and Roddy had returned him alive, without any broken bones, brain damage or lingering effects of tropical disease, snake or spider bite so hadn’t had an argument for last summer or this. 

 

Documentaries and photography were an almost self-supporting hobby yet. Their livelihood was…car wrecks, jumping from sixty stories up, being set on fire and making everyone grit their teeth and wonder when the call was coming that a stunt went wrong. Daniel and his rodeo obsession was tame and boring compared to Drigo and Roddy. Jessica planning her career in the military, eyes still on breaking barriers for Special Forces, wasn’t half so worrying.

 

Maiza as Baltazar’s only blood heir had inherited his investments, mostly properties and factories and Ian never had been the clearest on all what. He hadn’t paid attention when he was a kid, and it hadn’t been his problem when he was grown. Ian had the sugar cane business drilled into his head as a child. His great-grandfather had died when Ian was all of ten months old. He must have been one cantankerous interesting bastard. Ian had been his sole heir, and he’d managed iron clad agreements well before Ian was even born to keep distant cousins from trying to claim anything, basically bought them all off one by one. Ian’s grandmother had been his only child, and Ian’s mother her only surviving child. They got nothing, any future child of his mother’s, which biologically was only Ranie, got nothing. Everything had gone to Ian, that had been changed the day Ian was born and the old bastard realized there was a male heir. Ian’s grandmother and mother had already been mostly running the show then, and his mother still did. 

 

Ranie had her music and no interest in any other kind of business, even if she was as shrewd as their mother and had done quite well for herself on the business side of things as well as the music side.

 

“What the hell does that have to do with you getting in my face over your brother?”

 

Don just looked stubborn.

 

“You know how much crap you would be in if I didn’t already have an idea you’re extremely….fucked in the head about your brother?”

 

Don glared.

 

“Let’s be clear, you ever _ever_ come at me again with such bullshit accusations, I will end your career so fast your head will spin. Whatever the hell your problem is with your brother, figure it the hell out. And frankly, you should kiss his ass. Your career is still on some very shaky ground, and your screw ups back in fugitive retrieval have not been forgotten. The only reason you _have_ a career with all the bridges you’ve burned being a know it all asshole and sabatoging cases, other agents just to prove you were right when you were very wrong is your brother’s math voodoo the last few months bring a sharp uptick in Major Crimes solve rate. Get it together and get over yourself and whatever _bullshit_ problem you have with your brother.”

 

“Or what? You’ll recommend sticking me on a desk pending psych or something?”

 

“Done that already. You’re good. You just shoot yourself in the foot constantly with your need to prove you’re right, or…hell, be better than your brother or whatever your issues are. You have the potential to be a hell of an agent, if you ever get over yourself.”

 

Don glared. “Well, it didn’t happen so no one must’ve taken you seriously.”

 

Ian sighed. “What does your brother do?”

 

“What does that have to do with anything?”

 

Ian snorted. He’d had NSA agents tracking him down and asking he retract the request. Ian and Charlie had one hell of a fight over that too, though come to find out Charlie knew nothing of Ian’s recommendation or the NSA stepping in to make sure Charlie didn’t get upset by distractions when they were after him for a few projects in a row.

 

“Charlie’s innocent. He has no idea how the world works, and you stay away from him.”

 

“You miss the part where I said I’ve been with the same person since 1989. And exactly how old is the professor?” Ian managed. Charlie might get so lost in the numbers he was oblivious to a bomb going off next to him at times, but he wasn’t innocent or clueless. 

 

“We’ve got another shooting—“

 

Ian just shook his head. He knew how the conversation Charlie had with Amita went, and just how pissed Charlie was with Don over that. He’d heard it all night along with the formulas not working. If Amita went running to Don, Ian really hoped it was laying into Don over setting her up for one hell of a fall rather than tattling and plotting. He was almost sure it was ripping Don’s ass for setting her up like that, Don was too hostile. And predictable as hell.

*

 

The whole area was a mess. The crowd in front of the theatre was as much gawkers and ambulance chasers as witnesses, press and news crews. And it was all very much getting to Don who was trying to organize witnesses and get statements and mostly managing to piss LAPD uniforms off. Had uniforms trailing Charlie and guarding the entrance to the building they were fairly sure the shots came from.

 

The case was huge, and a media nightmare. It was everywhere anytime you turned on the TV or the radio. The city was on the edge, it wasn’t going to take much to send it to some kind of tipping point, though what that would end up when it tipped over the edge was in question. He knew Don had the bureau, the PD, city hall, hell all the way to Sacramento and the governor’s people demanding updates, wanting explanations for the lack of progress and maybe, just maybe it was really sinking in the buck was going to stop with Don this time, his head, figuratively, and his career, literally, were on the chopping block. 

 

Don was a good agent, had the potential to be a great one. That potential hampered by a whole hell of a lot of toddler-esque ‘not fair’ tantrum when it came to anything that was remotely connected to his brother and too often to any consequences Don himself should have faced. Hell, he’d been removed from one case for having sex with the primary witness during the investigation, when he was on the lead investigative team. Several he was close to in his earliest years in the bureau had since spectacularly fell from grace including two agents sitting in federal prison. Don seemed to do as good a job at sabatoging his career as he did his relationships with that brick wall of stubborn brat in his head.

 

Ian stared at the half dozen uniforms barring his entrance to the building that had to be the one the sniper shot from. The FBI prick would have their badges if he got in there. Ian demanded a ticket pad from the one that was obviously a traffic cop of some sort. Had that one write he barred Agent Edgerton on Agent Eppes orders and sign it.

 

“What the—“

 

“I am a sniper instructor at Quantico, I am the top shot in the US and in the top ten in the World. Agent Eppes personally requested me on this case. I use these statements, it will not be you I am using them against.”

 

He had six tickets, with signatures and badge numbers and contact information in his pocket. Like banning him from the front door was going to stop him. He was a sniper. Alley, fire escape. He didn’t even get sweaty it was a very easily accessible building and he hollered at one of the LAPD Forensic people he saw walking by. Flashed his badge at the guy. Easy viable entrance/escape route, and plenty of parking in the next couple blocks. Alley needed combed.

 

“Still figuring the angles, Professor?” Ian asked loudly. Charlie hadn’t realized he was there, lost in the numbers, calculating the angles of the shot. 

 

Ian stared in disbelief. Yeah, time to kick the numbers again. Charlie was caught on the numbers. On the fact that this was statistically an easier shot, distance, angle, number of targets…

 

“Professor…” Ian groaned.

 

“It’s a clear shot,”

 

“Exactly. Less cover. Greater chance of getting caught. Affect his respirations, his heart rate…”

 

“That would make a difference?”

 

Ian swallowed back the groan. “Too much numbers, not enough human factoring Charlie.” He sighed and moved to stand almost directly behind Charlie looking at the street, clear straight shot at the theater, crowd coming out would be easy pickings. If anyone actually looked up though, they’d have a clear view of the shooter. Statistically the odds were in a sniper’s favor in this position. Most people didn’t look up, and gunshot generally induced a stampede, duck and cover and running indoors. The average person was not trained to override that instinct and start looking. 

 

 

They hadn’t even had any luck with the one former marine, who had dropped and been fighting a flashback rather than looking for the shooter even with training. Poor bastard was beating himself the hell up over that too. Ian had steered that guy away from the main group and pressed his own card in his hand. He’d been further back, just at the door rather than to the curb where the woman who had been shot in the shoulder had been. He’d just been gone through with the rest, name number “see anything?” “Nope.” “Okay fine, if you think of something call” routine that was necessary.

 

He wasn’t playing fair and he knew it. He didn’t care. The best way to get through the numbers was to rattle the hell out of Charlie, and the numbers needed to be rattled. Charlie was missing factors, very obvious, very human factors. The numbers needed a good kick in the ass. Ian close enough behind him to almost feel body heat, talking him through the physical reactions of waiting out a shot, voice right in his ear, well, that rattled up the numbers.

 

“You’ve really never shot a gun,” Ian shook his head. Charlie was a pacifist, Ian knew that. It kind of amused him honestly. Charlie was one hell of a vicious pacifist when he got pissed and had been responsible for a not so small amount of property damage over the years with some of his and Larry’s prankings. He also did contract work for every US Federal agency there was. Primarily the NSA, yes, and seemed to be taking on a permanent gig with the FBI but he’d also done plenty for the DOD, CIA, DOJ, and…well his math had a lot of military applications. Pacifist with the formulas for total annihilation. Charlie being a pacifist was a very good thing. The thought of Charlie a cold blooded sociopath was….too easy to imagine and too terrifying. Charlie was simply _that smart_ , it would be far too easy to happen, leave him in his head with his chalkboards and his numbers.

 

That Charlie had never once shot a gun was…actually a surprise. That he had no interest in shooting just to be shooting wasn’t a surprise, but that he never had once, just to have the data, especially once he had started working with Don was a shock. He’d never thought to question it, just assumed somewhere along the way he had once.

 

“I don’t believe in guns.”

 

Ian stared, he didn’t succeed in stopping the smile. “It’s not like they’re ghosts, Charlie.” Charlie didn’t believe in ghosts either. Had nearly driven himself crazy the first time they’d visited his mother, Margaret and Larry with them. The footsteps in the hall, shuffling with an angry thump of wooden cane on wooden floor had driven Charlie half out of his mind when he heard it, and spent three days driving himself to the brink of exhaustion trying to calculate what could have caused that. Ian just shouted for his great-grandfather to leave Charlie the fuck alone, the house was Ian’s now and he’d find a way to exorcise the old son of a bitch if he kept it up. Ian got whacked on the arm by his mother for his language. His grandmother had nearly dissolved into tears, upset at her father lingering around and the implications of that. His great-grandfather seemed to have listened though, at least stopped making a racket when Charlie was around. Ian was really glad of the NSA agent meeting them almost the second they’d landed back in New Jersey. Charlie had been primed to drive himself into a breakdown calculating how ghosts were an impossibility, more practical and immediate math had distracted him and then school had started back up.

 

“That’s not what I meant…obviously. And I don’t believe in ghosts either.”

 

Ian chuckled. “I know.”

 

Charlie sighed and looked back down at the ambulance now finally loading the woman and taking her to the hospital. Granted it wasn’t a life threatening shot, she was lucky he got nerved out of the shot, but the chaos of the crime scene, only furthered along by the pissing match sparked off in the name of ‘cooperation’ and ‘joint task forces’ was…She should have been out of there an hour ago, should not have been triaged and interviewed on the freaking _street_. Don had LAPD jumping everywhere but actually doing their jobs and getting some traffic freed up so the woman could have gotten to the _hospital_. And it was going to be the LAPD that got heat for that crap, not Don.

 

“I got cornered at seven o’clock this morning for upsetting Amita and lying to her I was gay!”

 

“You’re not.” Ian snorted.

 

“Close enough. I’ve got you. And as far as she’s concerned, I’m gay as gay can be,” Charlie retorted.

 

Ian sighed. “Yeah. I heard a few things from Don on the way here.”

 

“What?”

 

“Yeah, he knows my type. I’m supposed to stay away from an innocent impressionable little you.”

 

“I don’t believe Don…”

 

“I told him he knew basically jack shit.”

 

“Oh? Exactly what didn’t he know?”

 

“Mmm, I’m a rootless drifter. No family and he knows I’m gay and I’m after every cute guy I come across.”

 

“Well, one in four is at least…well, pathetic, but he got something right.” Charlie snorted and waved.

 

Ian looked down. Don was glaring up at the window they were standing in.

 

“Told Don I didn’t get around to sleeping with a woman until I was almost twenty-one, just to see what it was like.”

 

“Andrea.”

 

“Implants and laser hair removal, not even so much as hormone therapy let alone surgery. Now the breasts were very nice, and she was a lot of fun, but I honestly didn’t get around to giving an actual natural vagina a go until New Years just before I turned twenty one. Actually two girls, one had a strap on and fucked me while I fucked the other.”

 

Ian stared. “I think I’m much happier not knowing what you got up to before your two years as an adjunct at Princeton were over with. And you probably shouldn’t attempt to murder your brother by inducing a heart attack telling him things like that either.”

 

“He would stroke out, thought he was going to when I had to correct him, no I didn’t lose my virginity at twenty one. I was seventeen and picked up a guy on spring break. He flat out called me a liar. Dad walked in on the did not did too shouting and threatened to ground us both, if we were acting eight and twelve at the top of our lungs in the kitchen at seven in the morning, he’d treat us like we eight and twelve.”

 

Ian smiled. “There are times you say things I can see what Mama must’ve fell for. Alan seems mostly pretty likeable.”

 

“Dad is, can’t deal with me, but he’s better than he used to be and usually a good pretty good guy.” Charlie agreed then spared another glance down at the street. “He’s ready to stroke out now.”

 

“We need to get this case done with. He’s already distracted enough. Pressure’s getting to him on this one and you’re his target of habit. I’m going to end up in front of a review board if not a judge if he goes off on you. And I’m going to knock a few teeth down his throat if he goes at me again.”

 

Ian heard thundering footsteps on the stairs coming up. He bet it was Sinclair. Don had shouted and pointed at someone a few moments before. He sighed and started for the door. “You coming professor?”

 

Charlie gave Don a glare from the window and hurried after Ian.

 

Sinclair was wheezing for breath when they met him in the hall. “Don—“

 

Charlie laid into him.

 

Ian just stood back and shook his head as poor Sinclair got ripped up one side and down the other all the way down the stairs that he could take care of himself and Don was an ass.

 

“And damn it! Nothing is adding up!” Charlie snapped.

 

Ian sighed. “So change the formula, Professor. If it’s the wrong one. Use a different one. Pigheaded tunnel vision is a family trait, isn’t it?”

 

Charlie gave him a dirty look. 

 

“Go to a range, shoot a gun a couple times, and change the formula.”

 

Charlie sighed. “Damn it, Don…” he muttered and went to head off Don.

 

“You told Charlie to shoot a gun?” 

 

Ian turned. “Were you hiding behind me from Eppes?” he shook his head.

 

“Case is making Don crazy, and Charlie always makes Don crazy.” Sinclair answered. “And you…you seriously told Charlie to shoot a gun.”

 

“I don’t ever expect him to be able to actually use one, or carry one. He needs the data. He’s got the numbers of the angle, he’s failing to have any comprehension of respiratory rate, or adrenaline, hand cramps, anything. If he’s going to get this with his math? He needs to fire a clip just to have even a vague idea even if he doesn’t hit the target once. And…I’ve got nothing. Nothing is striking me. There are next to nothing for leads. There’s…nothing. Need Charlie’s math voodoo and he doesn’t have all the factors he needs and he won’t until he actually holds a gun. I’m not advocating training him as a field agent. Just—get what he needs for the math, and there’s no way to explain it, to comprehend it until you’re holding the gun and squeezing off the trigger. I’m advocating scientific research.”

 

“I—God.” Sinclair cringed. “Their dad was around earlier fussing at Don because Charlie’s on this, Charlie’s…too delicate. And…God. Now you want Charlie to shoot?”

 

“Scientific research. Firsthand data he honestly needs for this.” Ian said flatly.

 

“You—you believe in Charlie’s math?”

 

Ian stared. “It’s not like it’s ghosts…it’s math.”

 

“You got the math is everywhere 101 lecture too?”

 

Ian did laugh at that. Been a long time, and he thought he might have gotten one of the first incarnations of that lecture before it turned into Math 101 introductory speech but he’d definitely heard the Math is Everywhere spiel, more than once. “Yeah, but not like I needed it to know just how much I use math. Distance, weather, wind, I’m a sniper. I might not look at it in numbers, rely on feel rather than a readout of barometric pressure but there’s no doubt how much calculations fit into being a sniper.”

 

“You believe in Charlie’s math?”

 

“Yeah, I do. And even if I didn’t, Major Crime’s solve rate out here since he started consulting speaks to just how well Charlie’s math works when he has the data he needs.”

 

“And he needs to shoot?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Sinclair cringed a little then sighed. “Yeah…that. I see your point. Don’t kill me if I have to drag you in for Don to yell at?”

 

Ian snorted. “Don’t worry, that happens, the only one I’m going to go at is Don. It’s Charlie you might have to worry about.”

 

“You called him Charlie…”

 

“Isn’t that his name?”

 

“Is it too late to put on vacation until you’re out of town?” Sinclair muttered.

 

“Yeah, think so.”


	8. November/December 2003, Las Vegas, Nevada

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorter bit today and probably not posting again til Monday, busy weekend.
> 
> Ina=mother in Tagalog,   
> Lola=grandmother in Tagalog  
> or at least so says Google.
> 
> Warning: er? extended family vacation/reunion?

Ian drifted half awake to mumblings and random tracings on his side. Letters and symbols mostly, but those represented the damned numbers. “One of those nights, huh, professor?” Ian yawned. 

 

“Sorry,” Charlie said miserably.

 

“Don’t.” Ian threaded his fingers through Charlie’s hair, curls wrapping around and clinging. 

 

Charlie lifted his head from Ian’s chest. “Didn’t want to wake you up. Sorry.”

 

Ian laughed. “Mmm, cause tickling is so conducive to sleep.”

 

“Shit…”

 

“It’s okay, Charlie.”

 

“I didn’t want to wake you up, you were sleeping so peacefully…”

 

“Charlie.” Ian growled and stretched, reaching for the lamp on the nightstand.

 

“Ian.” Charlie grumbled back, lifting his head and glaring down. “Turn that light off. You need to sleep.”

 

“It’s not that bright and I can sleep with a light a lot easier than I can sleep with the numbers rattling you up.”

 

“I—“

 

Ian pulled Charlie’s head down for a kiss. “I get it, professor. Now sit up.”

 

“I—it’s not like I brought paper…or…”

 

“Charlie, I want to get back to sleep before dawn. Sit up.”

 

Charlie kept protesting but did move to sit up, almost pouting as he stuffed a couple pillows behind his back. “And what good is this going to do?”

 

Ian grabbed the pillow he’d been using and tossed it on Charlie’s lap. He reached across to the nightstand on Charlie’s side of the bed. Habit had it not even in question, no brainer to know which nightstand to stuff the numbers survival gear in. Pack of twenty four pencils pulled out. “All sharpened and set to go, but you got a sharpener and a couple pink erasers too. Seven college rule notebooks and five with grid paper. And if that doesn’t last you until I’m ready to wake up I’m pouring wine down you tomorrow night.” The only thing wine did was make Charlie sleepy and the numbers sluggish, needless to say he avoided wine like the plague, especially after the last round of fluid dynamics. “Not ready to let you go, so you can use me for a table.” 

 

Ian settled himself as comfortable as he was going to get, grabbing a second pillow to stuff under his chest. Charlie’s hand rubbed over Ian’s back as Ian slid an arm around Charlie’s waist. 

 

“Math and let me sleep.”

 

Charlie chuckled. “Good thing I love you, you’re a grouchy bossy ass when you finally get a chance to sleep.”

“Love you.” Ian mumbled with another yawn. He fell back asleep with a notebook on his shoulder and scratches of pencil on paper, punctuated with a whispered mumble or two.

*

Ian groaned at the obnoxious noise. Charlie’s phone making noise over a text.

 

“If one of your grad students got busted I am going to scare them—a lot.”

 

Charlile snorted. “Daniel. Ina is terrorizing my grad students. She evidently slept on the flight and is all bright eyed and bushytailed and time zones be damned.”

 

Charlie’s phone sounded again. “Rosauro, Dalisay and Caloy are up too and helping Ina terrorize grad students.”

 

Ian groaned again. “What time is it?”

 

“Nine thirty.”

 

“Shit. We had the day…”

 

“Ina…”

 

Ian snorted. His mother had pulled Maiza’s kids out of school, ordered Maiza, Drigo and Ranie to figure it the hell out with their schedules, they were all going to Vegas, like hell was she going to ignore them for a day. If they hid she’d only terrorize everyone. “Ina’s timing sucks.”

 

Charlie chuckled. “Ina stole Daniel’s phone, we have fifteen minutes to get down to breakfast.”

 

“I probably could have slept til noon.”

 

Charlie’s hand slid over his back. Knocking off notebooks.

 

Ian smiled. 

 

Charlie’s phone made another noise. “Larry wants to know how old Dalisay is again. She’s eight right?”

 

Ian groaned and thought a moment. “Yeah, eight.”

 

“If she wants to study abroad in the states for high school, we’re to host her, or he will. He’s going to research schools around LA. Evidently she saw some documentary about parallel universes and Larry’s in love.”

 

Charlie’s phone sounded off again. “She wants to know if Michio Kaku’s going to be here and if she can get his autograph.”

 

“Tell Larry if he tries to kidnap our niece I am not protecting him from my sister.” Ian stretched. “Didn’t think Dalisay’s English was quite that good yet.”

 

“Rosauro and Ina are probably helping the conversation along. Caloy speak much English?”

 

“He’ll be three on New Year’s Eve. I’m thinking potty-trained is the best we can hope for right now,” Ian chuckled.

 

“Why was I thinking he was older?”

 

“No idea.”

 

“Cabot.” Charlie said.

 

“Mmm, probably. He’s got to be almost six now?” Ian sighed. Drigo and Roddy had Cabot for almost a year while his mother recovered from a stunt gone bad. That had been a nightmare not just Tamsin’s injuries but a mess of drama from her family, up to and including an attempt to kidnap Cabot. Cabot’s father, Kaelo, finally got his Visa straightened out and back to Australia. Hell, Tamsin’s half step from a religious cult family had tried to get Drigo and Roddy arrested for kidnapping when they’d taken Cabot with them to visit Ina the last time everyone had managed to get together almost three years ago. “We better move it.”

 

“Mmm,” Charlie agreed.

*

“Ina,” Ian sighed as his mother eyed them both, lips thinned and expression calculating as could be.

“Sleep and food, you both need more.” Malaya huffed and hugged Ian, before reaching for Caloy in Rosauro’s arms and plunking him in Ian’s. She moved to hug Charlie too.

 

“Mmm, so that’s why you woke us up when we could be sleeping, huh, Ina?” Charlie grinned as he hugged her back.

 

“Subtle, Ina,” Ian chuckled as his youngest nephew stared at him with huge eyes, not sure if he was going to scream at being held by a stranger or not. Or if Ian was a stranger. Caloy had seen Ian’s picture plenty, Maiza had pictures all over, so did their mother but the last time Ian had seen Caloy he’d been all of three weeks old. Dalisay nearly knocked him over, arms around Ian’s waist and carrying on excitedly could she go to the conference with them? Please please please?

 

“Huh?” Charlie frowned. The language barrier got to be a trick at times. Charlie was worse at languages than he was spelling and he couldn’t spell to save his life. Charlie tried and tried, but failed miserably. Roddy managed a bit butchered up, but at least understood more than he mangled attempting to speak. Drigo’s English hadn’t been all that great when he and Roddy got together. Benigno’s English was non-existent and he refused to bother to try to learn any. Maiza and Corazon’s were both choppy and slow when it came to English, but understood mostly. Rosauro, at least according his mother was outstanding with English.

 

“She wants to go to the conference.”

 

“That’s…up to you and Maiza.” Charlie hedged. “You’re the one who’ll have to translate.”

 

Ian snorted and shook his head.

“Please please please!” Dalisay begged in English.

 

“You need to ask your mother.”

 

“No, we’re Lola’s problem for the day since we can’t sleep like normal people,” Rosauro grinned.

 

“Ask Lola then.” Ian sighed. His mother just beamed at him. Caloy must have decided he was okay, the little guy laid his head on Ian’s shoulder, stuck his thumb in his mouth and crashed like a ton of bricks.

 

There really wasn’t any doubt that his mother thought it the best idea in the world that Dalisay attend whatever of the panels, at the very least the one Larry was presenting, even if that was not til Monday or Tuesday. 

 

“At least we won’t have to worry about keeping track of who went where,” Charlie murmured halfway through breakfast in one of the hotel’s restaurants.

 

“Goddamn, I forgot how that woman steamrolls through everything,” his dad mumbled from the other side.

 

Ian snorted. His mother had started stepping up taking over his great-grandfather’s holdings when she’d been all of nineteen, his grandmother helped plenty behind the scenes and had been a force in her own right, but his mother went toe to toe with the power players of global business, starting with her great-grandfather, not even out of her teens. She organized corporate take overs and buy outs without a thought, hell she could probably organize a war and win it inside a week if she ever had a reason to. Going through the rodeo events, both the competitions and the social events, the physics conference’s different panels and presentations and a few other minor social events associated with that. She also managed to commandeer a list of different shows playing in the various casinos, and the tourist trap things anyone wanted to see or do—

 

It took her an hour and a half, a couple dozen phone calls and only one instance of getting snippy with one idiot, and any confusion of what was when and who would be where was taken care of. The half dozen rodeo guys with Daniel, and something like twenty people connected to Daniel’s friends all accounted for as well as Marshall who had somehow ended up in the breakfast mob. Ian really wasn’t surprised at how much his mother figured in him having at least one of Maiza’s kids. She did the same to Drigo and Roddy though. As long as he had translation help, Larry was perfectly willing to have Dalisay with him every waking moment possible, encouraging the love of the cosmos.

 

“He needs a wife.” Malaya said watching Larry walk off with his grad students, twelve year old Aian who had woken up and called Rosauro who went up to fetch him and eight year old Dalisay.

 

“Ina,” Ian growled quietly. “Enough.”

 

“Enough what?”

 

“Do not play innocent with me. You raised me. I know better.” Ian snorted.

 

“I want grandchildren.”

 

“You have five.”

 

“By Maiza! I have three other children.” Malaya huffed, smile playing at the corner of her lips. “Ranie is a lost cause but I haven’t given up on you and Drigo yet. And besides, the children should know their uncles.”

 

“Uh huh, because two gay sons are so much more likely to come up with grandchildren for you than a straight daughter.”

 

“When the gay sons are you and Drigo and the straight daughter Ranie, yes. Children under the age of ten give your sister the hives.”

 

“You’re impossible, Ina.”

 

She smiled at him eyeing Caloy still napping in his lap. “And you look very good with a little one in your arms. It is no wonder Ranie is such a headstrong brat, both you and Maiza are at fault. She made the least whimper you both were all over her. You carried her everywhere, you and Maiza would fight over who got to carry her.”

 

“Yeah, all my fault and Maiza’s. Wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with the fact Ranie is just like you?”

 

Malaya laughed. “Of course not.”

 

“You were just as bad when you ended up with me and Dad. You just _waited_ for the chance to hold Daniel.”

 

“When that stupid witch you married wasn’t around,” Malaya huffed.

 

“You two on the same continent is not a good idea.” Ian sighed shaking his head. “Drigo, take Caloy.”

 

Drigo didn’t pause in his recitation of some crazy adventure to a wide eyed Rosauro, simply reached for the still sleeping toddler who was handed off without waking. Maiza was probably going to want to kill everyone if Caloy took too much more of a nap, by everything Ian knew Caloy was like Rosauro and next to never napped from about ten months old on, no matter how much he needed a nap he simply ran full tilt until he crashed for the night at six or seven in the evening. Caloy and jetlag was an unknown factor yet, this being his first real trip crossing more than one time zone let alone half the globe, and just might prove to be a nightmare.

 

His mother just looked at him smugly, her expression completely ‘I told you so’.

 

“I love you, but you’re horrible.” Ian shook his head and gave his mother a kiss on the cheek. 

 

“Go. I got yours and Charlie’s.” His dad said grabbing the ticket from Ian’s hand. Ian didn’t even bother to argue, just reached for his wallet and tossed a twenty on the table. The poor gal that had waited on them certainly earned it with so many separate checks and the mob of them taking up a corner of the restaurant for two hours now.

 

He headed for the table that Charlie had moved over to with Daniel and a couple of his friends sitting there slack jawed and glazed eyed. He looked at the napkins Charlie had been scribbling on. “Torque and centrifical force?”

 

“Yes! See! It’s simple Ian gets it—“

 

Ian laughed. “Is that a compliment or an insult? And explaining the equation for improving their ride is scaring them, Charlie.”

 

“You—holy shit. You figured that out just looking at—“ Daniel stared at him.

 

“What?”

 

“You knew that just looking at…”

 

“Osmosis. You cannot be around Charlie without picking up what basic equations look like.”

 

“That’s basic equations?” One of Daniel’s friends said sounding so dazed Ian fought not to laugh at him.

 

“Yeah, that’s the simple stuff.” Ian grinned. “C’mon, professor,”

 

“Where?”

 

“Bed.”

 

“Caloy? Ina had you watching him…”

 

“Drigo’s got him.” Ian smiled and grabbed Charlie’s hand. “Let’s get out of here before Drigo realizes he’s got a three year old for the day.”

 

Charlie didn’t argue.


	9. June 2005, Los Angeles, California

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: minor minor adjustments on order of events of Sniper Zero, reference to math-fits and episodes, long long past suicide equations,

Ian pinched the bridge of his nose, listening to Charlie’s briefing. Multiple copycats. That made too much sense. Way too much sense, he wasn’t even going to dispute the viral behavior, well he did because Charlie seemed to get stuck with everyone staring at him blankly. Ian didn’t know if he’d have gone with blue houses. Suicide epidemic through a campus or a military base, the princess captain of the cheerleaders gets knocked up, within six months a dozen more are in the school, that seemed more appropriate than blue and white houses. Difference between a sheep trend and the darker more visceral viral sheep behavior but it worked.

 

He was surprised he was brought in _before_ these angles were even considered. That _Charlie_ was on this before this was even considered.

 

The shock factor of sniper style shootings seemed to have sent every bit of common sense base investigative work out the window. Different caliber bullets, no connecting forensics…why _weren’t_ these looked at separately _first_. He hadn’t considered it because it was presented to him as a shooter with multiple guns or a gun with interchangeable barrels. He’d thought the other possibilities had been exhausted before he was requested.

~*~

Two days, three shootings were closed in a matter of _hours_ looking for anyone in the immediate circle for motive. And for god’s sake a gang member that turned snitch on another gang member, who subsequently was killed in a prison fight, who had a brother who had _almost_ gotten out, three years in the army ending with a dishonorable and two years in a military prison, came home and got revenge. That one, when they _looked_ for anything other than a serial sniper—took TWO HOURS TO SOLVE.

 

“My office, Edgerton,” Don growled.

 

Oh yes, Don’s office was going to do nicely. Something was off. The multiple copycats were being picked off one by one, easily, but there were still four that had _nothing_ Four that now had matching ballistics, that stood out like beacon and nothing that tied them to anything.

 

“I took Charlie to the range this morning.”

 

“Good. Maybe that will help, and if you wouldn’t have, I would have this afternoon or tonight. He needed the research.”

 

“RESEARCH!” Don bellowed.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Shooting a gun is not _research!_.”

 

“Data from hands on experiment to have grasp of variables in a problem. Sounds like lab time to me. That’s exactly what the Professor needed. Probably meant more that you were the one to take him and help him with that research, but yeah it’s research for him. And if you hadn’t by this afternoon I would have taken him kicking and screaming and made him.” 

 

It wouldn’t have been kicking and screaming, but that didn’t matter. The protest would have been over Don taking him—he’d asked Don. Ian knew that thanks to Larry who was playing relay the messages and blowing up Ian’s phone messages about wormholes and how was Dalisay doing? Was she still interested in the cosmos or had she moved on to boys and fashion magazines. Dalisay was ten, the cosmos had at least a couple more years before getting edged out even just temporarily by Cosmo. Ian really didn’t want to know what all the philosophical musings on wormholes was about and he’d known Larry too long to even want to try guessing.

 

“You—my brother shot a gun! Do you know what it was like seeing Charlie shoot?”

 

“What? He manage to outshoot you after a trial shot and some quick calculations.”

 

Don’s glare said Ian was on the mark with that, and he wasn’t surprised. Charlie got in math-mode everything was numbers, even physical reactions, shooting was angles, trajectory, straight shot at a relatively close target in a controlled atmosphere was as basic as the math was going to get.

 

“My brother. With a gun!”

 

“I’d rather see him with a gun on a target range than with fresh tracks on his arms snorting a line off a nightstand and a naked woman so close to fatal overdose that it wasn’t clear she was breathing for a few minutes lying next to him. Another ten minutes and she would have probably been too far gone and another hour he would have been with three times the lethal amount of a mess of shit in his system, just hadn’t worked through his system far enough for him to be dead yet.”

 

Don gaped at him. “WHAT?”

 

Ian shook his head, pushing away the memory of Charlie and Celia, and the raid that they’d quietly plucked Charlie out of five years before. Ian really really hated anything remotely connected to fluid dynamics, especially the yacht racing scene used as a legitimate front for a smuggling ring, the actual racing yacht itself the only thing clean of the organization and that simply because weight would slow it down. Margaret’s illness and death hadn’t pushed Charlie to the point of self-medicating the numbers again. Charlie didn’t touch more than beer these days and sipping at a beer or two over the course of an afternoon didn’t bother him, mostly for the reason it didn’t touch the numbers. Ian hoped that the inevitable blow up with Don didn’t push Charlie into trying to stop the numbers because they spiraled too far out of control.

 

“The possibilities of finding him doing something terrifying are endless, point is there’s much worse than emptying a clip at the bureau’s shooting range.” Ian snorted. “There’s a difference between terrifying and simple research. Why are you getting your ass bent out of shape over simple research and why doesn’t he have a vest?”

 

“Vest? Bullet proof vest? He doesn’t need one!”

 

“He’s out on active crime scenes, yes, he needs one. In fact your entire section is piss poor about wearing them when in the field. There is no magic force field just because you’re FBI. LAPD’s uniforms all had vests on, but the high and mighty FBI major crimes couldn’t be bothered? Your people take their lead from you, Eppes, and you’re half assed because you don’t like the fit of a vest is trickling down through and you’re being an absolute reckless idiot with a civilian consultant who is so busy doing the math of a crime scene he’s oblivious when you have him in the field because he wants to get the problem solved, stop people from getting hurt and help you. Your job to make sure he’s safe—which means pull your head out of your ass and pay attention to your surroundings and have a vest on him—and yourself, your people won’t and your brother won’t if you won’t. Too bad, it’s not comfortable. Told you when you were assigned to me with fugitive retrieval, tough shit, wear it. I’m telling you now. Tough shit, wear it. All the more with it not being just your own stupid self you’re putting at risk, your people follow your half assed and your brother—any civilian consultant on an active scene—needs one. Armor piercing are rare enough and ninety-eight percent of the time a shooter is going to go for center mass because the vast majority are not that good, especially not in a high adrenaline situation. Vests, Eppes. What you like doesn’t matter when your example is putting your people and civilian consultants at risk.”

 

“I didn’t call you in here for you to treat me like a rookie.”

 

“Quit acting like one, and you were assigned to me for almost a year. You know what you’re asking for if you want to start an argument with me.”

 

“I—you have no idea what it’s like in charge of a department.”

 

“I have enough of an idea, more than enough of one. That’s why I’ve turned it down every last time I’ve been offered a position. I’m better in the field and I know it.” And if he’d attempted to take one, that would have been a major problem when other agencies attempted to borrow him, it wouldn’t have lasted even if he had considered it. The only considering he’d ever done about a position like Don’s was how fast and far could he run from one. He never wanted a corner office and the endless paperwork. He got more than enough paperwork as it was.

 

Don ran his hands through his hair looking a little unhinged and almost flopped into the chair behind the desk. “I—I don’t know if I should have accepted the promotion…”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

“What? You’ve done nothing but tell me how much I’ve screwed up—“

 

“Yeah, and you have been. And the lack of vests is going to get someone killed, if you’re lucky it’ll be you, if not you’re going to have to explain why your people are shit about wearing them, and you better pray it’s not your dad you need to explain to why your brother got hit.” Ian snapped. “But bullshit as far as you not being able to handle this. You know how to work with a team, you know how to lead a team, you know how to figure out who does what best and play them there. How damn many years of baseball? Weren’t you team captain? Didn’t you end up working with the t-ball and coach pitch kids when you were in Pony and Legion leagues in the summer? Not baseball but the same damn basic principal. Quit flailing around like a spoiled teenage princess expected to do some chores for once, get your ass in gear and run your department, Eppes.”

 

“You have siblings?”

 

“Five of them. Yeah. I’m the oldest.”

 

“They normal?”

 

Ian snorted. “They’re terrifying. Talked to Jess this morning, she’s getting deployed to Afghanistan in a couple weeks. Talked to mom last night too, she was ranting like crazy. Drigo broke his leg and got a few minor burns. He’s a stuntman in Australia, If I could get the time off work I think I’d go hunting down there because the same son of a bitch who fucked up on the stunt Drigo got hurt on, fucked up about five years ago and damn near killed a friend of Drigo’s that mom’s laid claim to as an extra kid seems like. Tamsin and Kaelo have too much more shit with Tam’s family they just might be taking mom up on the offer of a place to stay. Mom will be thrilled with that, more little ones to spoil. Cabot’s like eight now and Hazel’s a year old. Might shut her up on the grandkids harping for a while but doubtful. But no, none of them are anything like Charlie. Drigo and Daniel both count as adrenaline junkies with stubborn streaks, but that’s about it. My sister Maiza’s kids are scary smart, but not quite to the level of Charlie either.”

 

“How close in age?”

 

“Maiza’s two years younger than me. Drigo’s eight years younger, Ranie’s right at ten younger. Daniel’s fifteen years younger and Jess is twenty years younger.”

 

Don ran his hands through his hair again. 

 

Ian just watched and waited. He wasn’t sure what this was. When Don simply sat there way too long Ian demanded. “What the hell is your point in asking about my siblings, Eppes? I’d like to get onto the laundry list of how you’ve fucked up this case. Your pain in the ass have to be right streak is a problem too often, but it also means you don’t go caving to popular opinion that fast. Some of those shoots should never have made it into the list, should have been solved before I was even called out here they were staring you right in the face.”

 

“Everyone loses their minds over snipers, the press, the brass---“ Don sighed and ran his hands through his hair again.

 

“What the hell was your point on asking about my siblings? What does that have to do with anything?”

 

“You, you ever put a gun in any of their hands?”

 

“Yes. I’m the one that taught Ranie and Drigo how to shoot—hell, Roddy, Tamsin and Kaelo too for that matter. Been hunting with Daniel and Jess. Jess is the best shot of the bunch, she can’t quite pull off some of the distance I can, but four hundred yards and under? Girl can make me work for the shot and she’s a soldier. For that matter, I taught Corazon, Rosauro and Aian how to shoot last year when I got the chance to go visit Maiza. Next time I get a chance to visit Maiza, I’m planning on teaching Dalisay. Probably be close to a year yet before I get enough time to manage a decent visit, but Dalisay is old enough now, even by Maiza’s definition. If Tam and Kaelo end up taking mom up on her offer, probably teach Cabot along with Dalisay. Your point?”

 

“You remember them as babies?”

 

“Ranie, Daniel and Jess, yes I do.”

 

Don looked confused. “What about…Drigo?” he stumbled on the name like he was struggling to make sense of it more than remember it.

 

“Drigo’s technically my step brother.” Well, more technically ex-step-brother, but that didn’t matter much. Ian almost thought he should start claiming Tamsin. His mother had informed him, Drigo and Ranie if they weren’t going to cooperate about grandchildren she’d find children to give her grandchildren. Tamsin had volunteered to be adopted and his mother had agreed, included Tamsin, Kaelo, Cabot and Hazel in her rundowns of what was going on.

 

“Your parents are divorced?”

 

“Yeah. They weren’t married long. Divorce was finalized before I was out of diapers. So what?” Ian demanded. “And what does any of that have to do with the two major problems going on here. You dropping the ball on the investigation that oh no connection but no looking further than that. We’re now at seven of twelve victims open and shut rookie could solve cases once they were looked at individually.”

 

“But—“

 

“Yeah, epidemic of sniper shots isn’t normal, but assumptions and half assed don’t solve cases. Different ballistics should have had each case picked apart completely individually before going along with the six o’clock news report of a serial sniper. Do you know that over _a third_ of the scum I bring in walk? Because some numb nuts screwed up the investigation and the most crucial evidence is inadmissible. And every. Last. One. Goes. On. To. Do. _Worse_. Than what I was hunting them for. A full half we brought in the year you were with me walked. You know this. You’re the numb nuts that is screwing up that is leaving a hell of a lot of holes open for the right lawyer. Big as this is, if it makes it to a courtroom, I can think of a half dozen big time ambulance chasers that would take on a pro bono like this to stick it to the federal prosecutor’s office and the bureau. And it all seems circling back to whatever the hell your bullshit problem is about your brother.”

 

Don glared at him. “You don’t understand. Charlie…”

 

“What about the professor? What I know? He’s a damned thirty three year old grown man for starters! Basic bio run down, about sixty published articles, that jumps up over a hundred when you go to the ones he’s listed as contributor for math, most of those are Flienhardt’s but there are a few others. His first NSA contract at fifteen, he has done contract work for the NSA, the CIA, DOD you name it. He was the primary suspect and questioned in at least five instances of criminal mischief and vandalism resulting in felonious levels of property damage, in two cases government property damage. Never arrested and to date no one ever arrested, though the day Dr. Eppes makes the wrong political enemy, that just might resurface. No solid evidence but the circumstancial is pretty damning. I know for a fact at least two of your brother’s lovers have been detained and questioned by the NSA.”

 

“What?!”

 

“All of it is standard bio. It’s in his file if you ever looked at it.” Ian glared. “Well, not the fact his lovers were interrogated by NSA, I just happen to know one personally. I’ve also worked with your brother professionally three times. The first in 1992. You shouldn’t even know that much, you most definitely don’t have the clearance for that much. I’ve seen what the little professor can do with his numbers, and his math voodoo was directly responsible for fifty saved lives that time.”

 

Don made a constipated confused face and blurted out. “You actually believe Charlie’s math is useful.”

 

“If you don’t why the hell are you dragging him out to active crime scenes WITHOUT A VEST! And what I know of the professor, the only way to ensure he wears one when he needs to is for you to pull your head out of your ass and wear one and crack down on the half-assery that is absolutely rampant in Major Crimes out here. For god’s sake you had that woman three days ago treated on the street because the entire scene was such a clusterfuck and that was on you Eppes! Entirely on you. LAPD was entirely wasted, three fourths of them hampered or standing around with their thumbs up their asses, the place crawling with reporters and traffic so backed up…You deliberately wanted her held on scene? You can do an interview at a hospital. What in the hell was that? You had a half dozen barring entry to the building Charlie was looking at, which he shouldn’t have been in until the crime scene people had gone through, and a dozen more inside the building. Any physical evidence that might prove something from that is going to be worthless. You had a dozen more in the building and then sent Sinclair running after him and the alley behind that building totally ignored and most likely in and out of the crime scene all things considered. Eighteen LAPD. Eighteen, Eppes, and instead of crowd control or traffic direction so the shooting victim could have been treated at a hospital rather than in the middle of a _street_ with a crowd of gawkers and then held longer so your people could talk to her…That crime scene alone is worth your job. That wasn’t even amateurish, that was complete bullshit.”

 

“Neither one of you acted like—“

 

“What part of you don’t have the clearance for me to have even told you _that_ do you not comprehend?”

 

“You don’t get it. Charlie…”

 

“Charlie what? Charlie is a genius? Charlie is a grown man? Charlie’s math has made such a turn round in Major Crimes the last few months you still have a freaking job? I don’t get you’re so screwed up passive-aggressive I don’t even know what to call it over your kid brother that you have a crime scene you better pray isn’t necessary for a conviction because if a conviction hangs on the theatre shooting the way you managed that crime scene there’s a good chance of the bastard walking? What?”

 

“I was four and a half. I remember Charlie coming home from the hospital and I was so excited! I was the only kid on the block that didn’t have a brother or sister or three. And even better I got a little brother! We could play baseball and…Charlie…Charlie was just _wrong_ from the first. He…He didn’t want to be held hardly at all. He never slept. Ever. I swear, he never slept. Mom said babies don’t always, I’d been a good sleeper but lots of babies aren’t and not a big deal but he didn’t sleep. And then the screaming started. Like when he was ten eleven months? When most kids might start saying mama or dada or whatever. Charlie started screaming and beating his head on the wall and…”

 

“The numbers started. Language kicking in high gear meant the numbers kicked in, and he couldn’t get them out,” Ian whispered about sick. 

 

“I don’t know, He just…screamed.”

 

The numbers took off, Ian knew it even if Don wanted to try to find some other explanation. Or the awareness of the numbers was enough that they were driving him insane and he had no words for them. Whatever. That Charlie started screaming when most were starting their first noises that had some real assigned meaning even if they might not quite qualify at words was entirely the numbers.

 

“He was three. And when he went to college he was thirteen, and he had better control over the numbers and now he’s thirty three. Figure it the hell out, Don.”

 

“Mom and Dad took him, one doctor thought drug him comatose and institutionalize him was the answer. Mom wouldn’t hear of it. Dad thought maybe some kind of sleeping medication might be…even just for a couple weeks. Mom wouldn’t though. I think Charlie was three? And…he’d have these …episodes. He wrote all over the walls in his room. Just crazy numbers everywhere when he was like three and a half…my seventh birthday. Charlie…was writing on the walls and…That was the first time he almost ended up in the hospital. Well, he did end up in the hospital overnight. Sedative and IV and if he’d been a bit older they might have put him in a psych ward. He was mumbling numbers in his sleep even. I remember mom and dad arguing about the prescriptions, mom wouldn’t give them to Charlie, she filled them so there was a record of getting them since Charlie landed himself in the hospital, even at that there was enough of a record with the pediatrician that…and dumped em, about landed herself in the hospital because Charlie couldn’t be left awake alone, and got him math tutors. Dad…was fine with the math tutors, but wanted the meds too. Charlie landed in the hospital again when he was five, exhaustion, sleep dep, blood sugar tanked, dehydration. Didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, mom couldn’t get more than a swallow of water down him, oh god the screaming fits during that when she tried to get him to at least drink something. He…he was trying to figure out the math to make me like him or something he’d totally ruined…my team was in the city play offs. And my freak little brother was the side show getting so much staring and...Dad tried shoving some Benedryl down Charlie like day four of that? And most kids it makes sleepy? Charlie went into overdrive and..”

 

“So the screaming fits stopped once he had enough of a way to get the numbers out?”

 

Don blinked and seemed to think about it. “Yeah. I guess. Then the math episodes started…but yeah, the screaming stopped when he was about four. He’d have meltdowns and stuff but the _screaming_ stopped when he was four and really got into advanced algebra.”

 

Don took a shaky breath and shook his head. “Our senior year. Charlie skipped up, he ended up in my class, so I could keep an eye out somewhat at school ya know? If he was going to be a senior in high school at twelve then at least he had a few classes with me and I was around sorta? That was dad’s logic. He won that one. Mom…Home schooling wasn’t such a big deal back then and think Dad would have gone for the homeschooling bit long before mom. Mom wanted Charlie able to …deal with the world.”

 

She’d managed it too in Ian’s opinion, about ran herself into the ground doing it, but managed it. Charlie’s genius almost consumed him, still threatened to often enough. Charlie’s genius was almost some kind of synesthesia, everything, every sense broke down to numbers, every thought seemed to be expressed in equations from what Ian could tell.

 

“Mom and dad argued, but it wasn’t fights, and it was pretty much always about Charlie. What to do with Charlie. They got in a _fight_ , Dad sleeping in the guest room for almost two weeks fight over Charlie going to college. Mom was dead set on Princeton. Not sure it was the best math program at the time but it was—Princeton. Might not have been _the_ best but still one of the best schools. She’d gone out there herself just two days and had met with the math dean there, she’d done that with like a dozen colleges. Larry was the reason she picked Princeton, made it conditional if Charlie went there that Larry’d be his advisor because Larry’s a scary freak genius too. Started college at like fifteen, had a doctorate at twenty one? And there was this other really young kid that was going to be at Princeton too…Martin?”

 

“Marshall Penfield.” Ian corrected unthinkingly. Larry and Charlie had gone from mentor and student to almost-brothers, best of friends. Marshall was still on the edge of that, still a damn asshole and would always be. Marshall had a chip on his shoulder and a distrust of the entire human race before he ever got to Princeton and wasn’t ever going to change, and was still annoyingly determined to one up Charlie, though Charlie was still a snot-nosed little pissant and full participant in the one-upmanship, antagonizing and nose-rubbing-in academic hate-on he and Marshall had for each other.

 

“That’s it,” Don frowned and looked at Ian oddly.

 

“Don’t ask.”

 

“Mom and dad were fighting and…Charlie retreated, had a math episode. I got a pizza and some sodas trying to get him to eat because he’s—he still doesn’t eat when he gets in one of those math episodes. I—tried to distract him. He was working on the calculations of his suicide…like the most effective and least likely to fail ways and…what would happen if he was dead and…

 

“Was he planning to kill himself or trying to find a way to survive?” Ian asked quietly.

 

Don blinked.

 

“You heard me. Was he planning to kill himself or trying to find a way to survive?”

 

“He was doing math on most effective ways of killing himself and who would find him!”

 

“No. Charlie does math on everything. Charlie _thinks_ in numbers and equations. That he did the math on suicide is just he’s Charlie. How he did the math makes the difference, was he coming at the numbers that he wanted to die or that he was trying to find a way to survive? I’m thinking if Charlie was going to calculate the most effective and fool proof way to off himself? He’d be twenty odd years in his grave by now. The professor gets an equation he really wants to solve or go through to the very end of it? Nothing stops him.”

 

Don stared at him slack jawed.

 

“And your brother isn’t what? Twelve then? He isn’t twelve, thirteen, whatever he was. Your department is a disorganized clusterfuck with shit morale, sloppy as hell and half of them are following your lead and being half assed as hell about procedure and professionalism. Get. It. Together. Eppes. You’ve sat so far back on this one and let the media tell you what this case was rather than investigate every possibility _before_ bringing in your brother and his math, you have at least one crime scene that is going to be absolutely inadmissible in court and if that’s the one that a conviction is going to hinge on, this bastard’s walking if he’s brought in alive. Whatever crisis you’re having over your brother doing research to get a better equation to _solve this case_ , you need to get the hell over it and do your job, instead of waiting around for your brother to fail at doing your job which is what it mostly seems like you’re doing! Get your ass in gear and get your peoples asses straightened out!”

~*~

“What are you doing here?” Charlie asked coming out of one of the buildings on CalSci’s campus walking up to Ian who had been waiting for him.

 

“If I didn’t get away from your brother I was going to wring his neck. What are you up to?”

 

“Office hours…or supposedly. I need to catch up on some paperwork. Any progress?”

 

“They’re running locations and employment histories for the surrounding blocks. Going to take some time.” Ian shrugged.

 

“Oh, mail—“ Charlie dug through the stack of papers he was carrying. “Ed Hirschbaum’s getting married.”

 

Ian laughed at envelope addressed to Dr and Mr Eppes, and Family in care of CalSci. “I take it that it didn’t get through his head that Dalisay and Caloy were my sister’s not ours. When and where is it?”

 

“Next month in Hawai’i.” Charlie grinned. “There’s an apology note too, he couldn’t remember your last name and hopes you’re not offended.”

 

“Been called a lot worse,” Ian laughed. And he had met Hirschbaum how many times over the years, the man was bad with faces and even worse with names. “We going?”

 

“We? You think you can get the time? I was going to go with Larry but…”

 

“I can try, should be able to. I have enough time piled up they’re getting hostile about me taking it again.”

 

“Well if they’re worried about your accrued vacation and comp time they should actually let you take it.”

 

Ian snorted. It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried to take the time that accounting and HR were all up in arms about.

 

“What did Don do?”

 

Ian just shook his head. “I gave my opinion on a few things about the case. Don’t think it went over so well. And I royally screwed up.”

 

“How?”

 

“Knew a hell of a lot more about you than I should have. I told him there was something in 92. Nothing more than your math was involved in something I was in 92.” Ian sighed. That was the truth.

 

“Doesn’t matter. He’s going to have a fit and that you worked with him for almost a year is going to be added to that.”

 

Ian didn’t say anything to that. He hadn’t trusted Don not to do something completely stupid and make field work more dangerous for him just by having a fit too loudly in the wrong place with the wrong people hearing. That had been…a bad year. Half through it Charlie took the least fluid dynamics project, Ian ended up not finishing the year wanted to train Don in the finer aspects of fugitive retrieval, NSA arranged leave of absence to deal with Charlie and his recovery from that nightmare. Ian had been handed Don Eppes with the orders to kick his ass into line, that he was that good, if he got his act together he’d be headed for an assistant director’s desk. He was bright, he had excellent instincts, had the potential to be one of the best and he was a hotheaded self-sabotaging idiot.

 

“Almost over.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah. We’re finding him. We got the right track on the locations. Your math and my gut both say so. There’s going to be overlap somewhere. We’re finding him.”

 

Charlie waved.

 

“Who?”

 

“Lindholm. Don’s still wasting man power on babysitting me.”

 

Ian rolled his eyes. “Yeah, paying someone to be bored with a cup of coffee is really going to stop a sniper.”

 

“I thought you two weren’t acknowledging you knew each other?” Sebastian Brett said walking up to them. The NSA agent looked like he belonged on the campus, blending in easily enough with his jeans and Oxford shirt, suitcoat with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows and briefcase in hand. While not long graying brown hair a bit shaggy and overdue for a cutting.

 

“Hey Baz,” Charlie smiled.

 

“This case is done, Major Crimes is going to be a damn mess out here while Eppes loses his damn mind.” Ian said. “How you doing, Brett? And I thought you were supposed to be inconspicuous or something.”

 

“Or something,” Brett said with a shrug. 

 

“Uh huh.” Ian side eyed Brett. He liked Brett, hell the man had been pulled out of the corners he lurked in when they’d been in Vegas. “What’s the job?”

 

“Job’s an insult but they want an unbiased unconnected set of eyes. Simple bookwork.”

 

“Skimming on a project?”

 

“Looks like but things are so jumbled around it’s hard to pinpoint where.”

 

“I’m not an accountant.” Charlie huffed

 

“No, but you’re the best number man we have access too, and this…is an eyes only project that seems to have some interesting accounting errors.”

 

“Stripped of identifiers?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Would you let Amita run it in my office under your watch?”

 

Ian wanted to growl.

 

“Your husband doesn’t look too pleased by that suggestion, doctor,” Brett grinned.

 

Ian flipped him off.

 

“You can’t seriously be jealous of Amita?”

 

“No, I’m not, I’m so far beyond aggravated with your brother though she just adds to it,” Ian muttered.

 

“How vital is this? I-honestly do have a backlog at the moment. And Larry will get pissy and go get Marshall, and…that’s going to be bad because he’s going to be back and want me to double check Marshall’s math and…”

 

Ian snorted.

 

“Put Ian on it, he’s the one with the degrees in business and economics. Accounting is right up his alley.”

 

“Not quite. Necessary evil, not an interest.”

 

“Two degrees are a necessary evil?” Brett laughed.

 

“You’ve met my mother.” Ian grinned. “What do you think?”

 

“Your mother has a very formidable empire.”

 

“One thing though, it’s not hers, it’s mine. It has been mine since I was ten month’s old. She’s just on salary to run it. I didn’t have a choice but to know how to pick up and at least keep an eye on it once she retires.”

 

“So who is I. Dakila Mercado?”

 

“Me. Mom took back Mercado and changed my name to Mercado too when she divorced dad. Edgerton got put back on when I came to live with dad when I was fifteen. Ian Dakila Mercado Edgerton.”

 

Brett looked around Charlie at Ian for a second. Then just laughed. “I figured Dakila Mercado was your grandfather or something.”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Well Ian would work as assistant, you can have up to three, including Dr. Fleinhardt. Ian’s clearance should cover it.”

 

“Really, if it will why—“

 

“My clearance gets flexible. Mostly it doesn’t come near the same league as yours. But there’s a sliding scale if my skills are needed or in context to you. Two of the seven eyes only assignments I’ve had involved you. And I’m not entirely sure but I’d almost wonder if two more didn’t have your math applied to them at some point. Something felt familiar in the way things were presented.” Ian murmured.

 

“Ms. Ramanujan’s clearance doesn’t make the cut for this I’m afraid.”

 

“Charles!”

 

Charlie groaned. “I’m going to try to get them this afternoon, Larry. As long as nothing else crops up.”

 

Ian raised an eyebrow at the woman trailing behind Larry. 

 

“Sebastian?” Larry frowned as he stopped in front of them realizing he just might have stepped in it. “Do I know you?”

 

Ian burst out laughing. “Yeah, what the hell, you know me. How are you, Larry?”

 

“I’d be ecstatic if I had calculations done. Yourself?”

 

“Larry…” Charlie groaned.

 

“Tempted to wring my brother-in-law’s neck and put his head through the wall.”

 

“Benigno?”

 

“Nope. Benigno would actually have to _do_ something to want to wring his neck.”

 

“Rodney?”

 

“No, and not Kaelo either.”

 

“Oh, the other one.” Larry said a bit wide eyed.

 

“Yeah that one.” Ian snorted.

 

Charlie groaned again.

 

“I got a delightful email from Dalisay this morning.”

 

“Oh yeah. What did she all have to say?”

 

Charlie held his hand up at Larry and looked at the frowning woman half step behind him, eyes moving suspiciously, almost angrily between Brett and Ian. “Did you need something, Ms. Ramanujan?”

 

“I—do you need me for anything this afternoon?”

 

“No,” Charlie said simply.

 

Larry looked from one to the other then turned his attention back to Ian. “Dalisay’s English is quite good, is she speaking it as well as she write’s it?”

 

“Yeah. I guess Benigno is pissy over the fact all five of them start in English when they’re ignoring him. Corazon started that, I guess she’s been waging war on Benigno the last few months over school or something. Rosauro, Aian and Dalisay jump right in. Cori’s English has been improving by leaps and bounds, so have Aian and Dalisay’s. Caloy’s really taking off.” Ian smiled. Rosauro had always been the best at languages and evidently had a blast with the rest aiding and abetting Corazon’s tantrum as Maiza put it.

 

“I wonder if Cabot is going to be an engineer, Dalisay passed along some rather interesting questions he posed.”

 

Ian laughed. “Don’t hold your breath. You’ve met Tamsin and Kaelo, Larry. He was probably wondering about the feasibility of a stunt.”

 

“True, or a very interesting homicide scenario now that I think about it.”

 

“I don’t want to know. The less I know what Drigo, Roddy, Tamsin and Kaelo actually do, the less likely I am to have nightmares, especially when Drigo and Roddy have Rosauro again this summer on one of their little ‘fun expeditions’.”

 

“Poor Maiza,” Larry chuckled. “You look confused, Amita?”

 

“You asked if you knew him or not and are carrying on like…you’re asking about his family…”

 

“I’ve known him since 1989 and for that matter, I’ve known him since 1993,” Larry nodded toward Brett. “Though there are often issues of confidentiality and national security that it is a prudent question.”

 

“Did you need anything else, Ms. Ramanujan?”

 

She gave a tight smile. “No. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“You want to write me an ad to put on the school website for a TA and assistant, Baz? Ian? One of you?” Charlie sighed as Amita walked off.

 

“Just TA or assistant that would need clearance screening?”

 

“Either, both, one of each.” Charlie sighed. “Quit making faces, Larry.”

 

Larry just sighed and shook his head. “I don’t think she’s any happier with me than with you, Charles, she was rather upset and trying to find out my opinion on your sexual preferences and if you were married. I declined to answer out of hand.”

 

Ian’s phone rang, a second later Charlie’s did. Ian walked off in one direction as Charlie did the other. Lake said they had tracked down a last known and were bringing in the suspect’s mother. Did he want to be there for the questioning? Hell yes he did.

 

“Don.” Charlie said nodding when Ian raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“You want a ride in with me?”

 

“Yeah,” Charlie nodded. “This is almost done, and if he knows we at least have worked on a project together before.”

 

Brett raised an eyebrow.

 

“He’s knows something in 1992 out of his clearance and that’s exactly all he knows. We argued, he whined, I knew more about Charlie than I should have.”

 

Charlie gave him a look. “Argued about what?”

 

“Procedure. A victim treated on the street rather than taken to the hospital, compromised crime scene, lack of proper measures taken, lack of even thinking to look on the other side of the building that was used for the shooting at the theatre. If this guy is brought in alive, Don’s lack of keeping the investigation pulled together right is getting damn close to a ticket to walk and sue the FBI.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Really. He knows better.”

 

Charlie glanced around. “So, odds on my oh so discreet tail slipped off to go to the bathroom or slipped off to chase the chem major he’s been eyeing like a creep when he’s been on campus the last three days?”

 

“I think he followed Ramnaujan,” Brett frowned.

 

“Baz, will you and Larry…”

~*~

“Lindholm was trying to get information from Amita for a bet.” Charlie said tightly ending the thirty second call as Ian parked in the bureau’s parking garage.

 

“What was the bet?”

 

“Evidently there’s a book on what kind of deviant I am. Because I’m a freak.” Charlie’s disgust slowly turned into a rather mean-spirited grin. Ian raised an eyebrow. “Baz is taking him in for questioning.”

 

Ian laughed. “Oh that’s going to go over well with the Bureau.” And Don was going to hear it on that count, not having control over his department, and wasting resources on Charlie. He wondered what Don was going to do with the fact that Charlie and Larry both had worked on so many eyes only projects that it was almost a wonder that they were allowed out of some NSA basement and they shared a handler that had at least one of them in sight most hours of the day. Considering how much Larry and Charlie were in each other’s company it wasn’t that difficult to keep an eye on both at once. And with Sebastian Brett assigned to the two of them as handler and watcher for so long they spared him the trouble and called to check in if they were taking off out of the ordinary for a few hours and actually compared what was viable for conferences, contract work taken, vacations, and whatever might come up once a month.

 

Larry claimed it was Ian’s grandfather that had given him the advice to publish often, go to every conference and school social gathering possible, be _visible_. Even with a predictable enough of a routine a high profile target was a pain in the goddamn ass and if he didn’t stay high profile he’d be off the grid and under the control of whoever got him first. Larry had instilled the same advice in Charlie and Marshall, and before them Ed Hirschbaum who had been a freshman undergrad when Larry had been in grad school and TA for one professor or another they had in common. Larry seemed think Hirschbaum was unimaginative and boring but had mostly turned Marshall over to him in a manner of speaking. Marshall did much better with predictable and staying away from pushing envelopes and probably did better with Hirschbaum than he ever had with Larry and Charlie, even with the deranged competitiveness between Marshall and Charlie.

 

Both Larry and Charlie (and Ed and Marshall for that matter) were extremely high profile. You didn’t get much higher than them without being Stephen Hawking or, well, Dalisay’s second favorite hero Michio Kaku with his face in a boat load of documentaries and doing segments on Good Morning America or what have you when some major scientific thing made the news. (Dalisay’s first favorite hero was Larry). High enough profile to be safe, or as safe as it got with their brains and the level or projects they’d both worked on, too many would notice if they suddenly up and disappeared.

 

Brett had been with the pair of them so long he was friend as much as handler/first line security. He was going to rake Lindholm over the coals. The idiot needed it. He’d stood out like a sore thumb and had been too busy watching Co-ed’s asses to have much clue of surroundings or what Charlie was doing.

 

“Yes, I’m a bad brother. Don’s going to catch hell for this, but if his people are that pathetic I can spot the tail, he needs to know that even if he gets his butt reamed in the process.”

 

Ian chuckled. “You’re starting to sound like a good agent there, Professor.”

 

“Osmosis. Been around this sniper for how long now.” Charlie grinned.

 

“Let’s go see what they got, huh?”

 

“Yeah.”

~*~

Ian was about ready to knock Don’s head through a wall, and Sinclair’s right after Don. Sinclair was there, in the interview room, with Marion Crane sniggering like a seventh grader when she said that Nathan didn’t get along with her boyfriend. Ian was absolutely _stunned_ at such a lack of professionalism in what equated to a witness interview, Marion Crane wasn’t a suspect or even really considered any kind of accessory. She had knowledge of the suspect though and sniggering and insulting trying to get her to assist when the suspect in question was her son was unbelievable. 

 

That Sinclair was screwing up like that was entirely on Don’s lack of having any sort of control in Major Crimes, and having a his way or the highway tantrum every so often didn’t count as control, if anything made the lack of control worse. Sinclair wasn’t a bad agent, but he was green as hell and not quite two years out of Quantico. Time in LA’s major crimes hadn’t done Sinclair a damn bit of good, and that was all on Don’s half assery letting so much bullshit and bad habits run rampant. Sinclair’s on the job experience was learning everything that should not be done at all!

 

Ian didn’t have to say a thing though, it was Charlie who went off—on Don, on Sinclair, on Lake and about five others who happened to be in the war room after the interview both Charlie and Ian had watched from the observation room. 

 

Sinclair looked like a kicked puppy. Lake was a bit huffy, mumbling under her breath well it was shocking Marion Crane could get a boyfriend…Charlie froze her with a glare. Don got pissy spluttering about how it didn’t matter and they had to find Crane and any possible other locations.

~*~

Ian would have picked the plaza location himself. He wasn’t about to look at the warehouse location with Don heading to the plaza. Charlie ended up at one or the other, it would be following Don. For victims, the Plaza had a better attention factor. Warehouse and manufacturing employees weren’t going to get as much attention as office employees. Especially with the viral behavior now in the news and supposedly settling the city down rather than serial sniper, some of Crane’s thunder got stolen. His next vic was going to get attention. White and female, preferably young as possible to maximize headline attention, to prove he was there. He was headed for the roof of the building directly across from the one that Crane had worked in. He could get a shot at roughly ninety percent of the area from there. 


	10. November/December 2003, Las Vegas, Nevada

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tiyuhin= uncle
> 
> warnings: ~shrugs~ if you've read up to this point, I can't think of anything in particular

Charlie didn’t want to move. His arm was numb and Ian’s weight half sprawled on him was getting to be a bit too much about twenty minutes ago, he still didn’t want to move. Ian honestly didn’t sleep much more than Charlie did, if one of them could sleep then it was worth whatever annoyances and inconveniences that might crop up.

 

The alarm on the nightstand took care of Ian sleeping. Charlie reached and turned it off. Ian sighed heavily, but didn’t move from where he was, tangled up in sheets and Charlie, his head on Charlie’s chest. His hand reached, thumb slid across the bend of Charlie’s elbow, unspoken questions that could easily be ignored. Questions of how was he, not demands to know if he had slipped up.

 

“I’m okay,” Charlie whispered.

 

“I know. I worry.”

 

“I know.” It wasn’t worth the effort to be bitter, to be angry. He looked for new scars on Ian, any sign of recent injury, and too often found them. Ian looked for fresh tracks and Charlie vowed once again there wouldn’t be any ever. Didn’t mean it was easy, the siren song of an opiate haze to make everything _stop_ wasn’t just a call, it was a demon clawing at his gut some days. He slid his fingertips lightly over the scar high up on Ian’s arm, almost on his shoulder, faded and so much a part of Ian it was barely noticed, and a truly minor injury at that, just an ugly scrape/almost burn even if the scrape had been made by a larger caliber bullet. It was still the first new scar Charlie had been confronted with when Ian had tracked him down in Princeton over Thanksgiving fourteen years before. “I calculate…”

 

“I’m as careful as I can be.”

 

“I know.” Charlie agreed.

 

Ian pressed a kiss to the center of Charlie’s chest, right over his heart, even as his thumb stroked the bend of Charlie’s elbow again, mostly just for the fact he hadn’t moved his hand.

 

“Nap help?” 

 

“Yeah, thanks.” Ian murmured.

 

Charlie growled quietly and pushed at Ian, that he managed to move Ian and end up three fourths on Ian was only because he allowed it. “Don’t. So you needed a nap. So what?” Ian’s occasional streaks of bad nights weren’t anything compared to Charlie’s normal lack of any kind of sleep pattern. Drigo had smirked and teased yeah right they needed a nap. Charlie had just laughed and left the kids with Drigo rather than attempting to return Dalisay and Caloy to Maiza. Drigo could do that, Ian had needed some rest and Maiza.

 

Ian looked at him a long moment. Charlie raised an eyebrow, silently asking if they were going to have that ridiculous argument again, wasn’t even so much an argument anymore as practiced step in a strange dance. Ian never said what his nightmares might be caused by. Charlie never asked, just waited out the very controlled breathing and too still when Ian woke, usually they ended up watching a movie—or Ian watching a movie while Charlie scribbled on whatever project equations or lesson plans were rattling around his head. 

 

Occasionally, like that day, Charlie demanded a nap. The nightmares generally stayed away in the light of day. It wasn’t like it was any kind of hardship to lie down and hold Ian for an hour or so. Except when the numbers were at their very worst, something pushing so hard that he couldn’t, a day the numbers were trying to drown him, Charlie could ignore them for a while, or at least shove them to nothing but background noise in his too busy brain.

 

“How did I get so lucky that you’ll put up with me?”

 

Charlie gave Ian a smile. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking that? You do a lot more of the just putting up with than I do.”

 

“Nope, I don’t.” Ian countered, nudging Charlie’s head down for a kiss.

 

Charlie groaned when the kiss ended. “Don’t start that. We’ve got to get moving.”

 

Ian chuckled.

~*~

Dean was the one responsible for the party room rented, buffet along one wall, private bar and DJ all set up. Daniel had won another gold buckle, so had two of his friends. Daniel, his friends and about twenty more that had come with his friends, mostly their family, plus a good thirty more Charlie wasn’t sure who they were, a couple he thought had ridden that night at the rodeo, quite a few just seemed random, mostly pretty women attaching themselves to cowboys for the night. And one in her boots, straw Stetson and painted on jeans seemed to be talking up Ed Hirschbaum.

 

“Here, professor,” Ian said handing Charlie a beer in a red plastic cup. He followed Charlie’s gaze and chuckled. 

 

“You know who she is?”

 

“Yeah, Bridey Hollister. Bar H is hers, she lost her dad a couple years back.” Ian answered.

 

Charlie raised an eyebrow.

 

“Bar H runs stock, several of her animals were invited here. She’s got some of the best.” 

 

How Ian knew that was beyond Charlie but he didn’t doubt that. “Ed looks scared.”

 

Ian laughed. “Bridey is amused looks like. She’s not going to terrorize him too much. Woman’s smart as hell and has no patience for rodeo cowboys no matter she’s been born and raised rodeo herself.”

 

“I think I should do something about that, but I don’t know what,” Sebastian Brett chuckled coming up to them. 

 

Charlie groaned. “Oh god…” Larry and Kaelo had a pile of cash on the table in front of them and a line of shots. Charlie didn’t know what the bet was exactly but it wasn’t hard to guess.

 

Ian looked toward what Baz was referring to and just shook his head. “My money’s on Larry.”

 

Charlie laughed. “Kaelo’s twice his size.” Almost literally. Larry was five-six and probably all of a hundred and forty pounds. Kaelo was six four and easily two fifty. Tamsin and Kaelo had arrived two days after everyone else. Ranie had made it that afternoon in time for the bizarre mix of his and Ian’s friends and family to go to the rodeo’s final night.

 

“Oh Dear, Kaelo is going to have bad head.” Maiza said coming up and putting an arm around Charlie’s waist. “Have not seen much of you, little brother.”

 

Charlie hugged her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Smiling and mangling hello in Tagalog at Benigno.

 

“Dalisay has not been trouble?”

 

Charlie grinned. “No she hasn’t. She’s gotten her very own fan club I think.”

 

Dalisay and Caloy had been attached to Ian almost every waking hour the past week, Caloy simply deciding Ian was his current favoritest person ever and Dalisay fascinated with the physics conference of all things. A couple had suggested that it wasn’t cute, she should be concentrating on girly things. Caity had proven that stereotype of redheads and tempers were soundly based in fact, at least in her case. The grumbling about the kids in the back of various lectures with Ian had been kept at arms length of the kids other than that idiot Kavanaugh.

 

Kavanaugh had made enough of a stink that he had an Air Force General and a group of SFs outside the final lecture the afternoon before. 

 

Kavanaugh had about had an anuerysm on the spot that Ian had known General Hammond. “He’s not using the name Charles!” Kavanaugh had declared triumphantly, when Hammond had addressed him as Captain Charles. Dalisay had won the heart of every physicist present, gawking at Kavanaugh’s fit which included Generals and SFs by kicking the man in the shins and spouting off something that had Ian drolly saying. “Your mother hears you say that we’re both going to be in hot water, munchkin.”

 

Ian gamely talked with Benigno while Charlie bragged how taken everyone was with their bright little niece to said niece’s mother. Even after all these years Benigno was something of an enigma. Quiet, reserved, his default expression seemed to be somewhere between dismayed and annoyed, and he very rarely was found anywhere but at the very edges of things. Maiza absolutely adored him though, and the kids would come up with an endless dad this, dad that if they got on the subject of their father. Corazon seemed to be the only one with a negative dad this, dad that these days, but she was sixteen so that wasn’t surprising.

 

Benigno just seemed so out of place all the time. He was an accountant, very reserved and quiet, and was generally lost in the overwhelming amount of larger than life personalities surrounding him, not least of which were his wife and his children.

~*~

Charlie was still grinning and shaking his head at the fact Kavanaugh, Hammond and the group of SFs had ended up at the rodeo and then in the party room that Dean had rented. Well, Hammond hadn’t been to a rodeo in years, and the SFs had all about sprained something not going into fanboy mode at meeting a legend like Col. Dean Edgerton in the flesh. Kavanaugh was sulking and watching Ian sure he was going to…do something, god only knew what. Several from the conference were still about and now at Daniel’s victory party, a good dozen NSA agents leaning in corners watching. Ranie had a good forty people with her—security, a couple assistants, a few members of her band and two backup singers, the singer of the band she was on tour with and a half dozen with him. The mix was so improbable it was amusing to calculate the odds of ever assembling such a group intentionally.

 

“What has you so amused, Charles?”

 

“Calculating improbabilities,” Charlie shot back at Larry eyes traveling to the next table where Kenneth Joh sat, Andrew Chang and Caity McKinley watching so none of the cowboys pulled a fast one somehow, though they’d have to realize Kenneth was completely face blind to think of pulling a fast one. Kenneth was systematically drinking a bull rider under the table.

 

Kaelo groaned as sipped at his Gatorade and ate another cracker. Muttered something at Larry who while definitely more than a bit buzzed was still functioning—and drinking. Kaelo had lost their competition and barely made it to the bathroom before losing the contents of his stomach, which had him closer to miserably hungover than drunk in the midst of the party going on.

 

Tamsin was soon enough back on Kaelo’s lap, having made Ian dance with her. Ian frowned at his chair now taken by Marshall.

 

“You look entirely too amused.” Ian snorted and sat in Charlie’s lap, stealing his beer and taking a drink.

 

“Kenneth’s winning.” Charlie grinned and stole his beer back from Ian.

 

“Why am I not surprised?”

 

“Well, that works…” Bridey Hollister laughed as she sat in the last chair on the other side of the table and pulled Ed Hirschbaum into her lap.

 

Charlie pinched the inside of Ian’s denim clad thigh hard. He could feel the amusement bubbling up in Ian. Ed would bolt, and Ms. Hollister just might bust Ian in the nose. Ed and Ms. Hollister were both about the same height, somewhere between five-nine and ten, she was a bit taller with her boots on so might be an inch or less shorter bare footed, overall they were comparable of size, and probably weight, she was the more athletic though. Second thought, she probably weighed more, she was athletic and obviously toned with what was visible of her arms with the short sleeves of her shirt and the way her jeans clung, Ed had the muscle tone of an emaciated scarecrow made with noodles.

 

“I’m curious how you and Dr. Eppes met, Agent Edgerton, if I may ask.” General Hammond looked around the table amused and baffled.

 

“I never got that full story…” Dean chuckled.

 

“Spring break,” Ian grinned.

 

“I still say Charlie cheated!” Marshall said, he was well beyond half plastered.

 

‘Think you’re going to have a hangover as bad as the one you had to have ended up with the night I ended up with Charlie. And he didn’t cheat. That I’m still with him ought to prove that.”

 

“He came up to you and told you about the bet!”

 

“Yeah.” Ian grinned.

 

“Honesty’s always the best policy.” Charlie smirked.

 

Ian burst out laughing at that.

 

“What? I was honest. You still have a great ass and I had all sorts of ideas about what to do with it too, even more now. I also had a grand riding on getting you into bed. And no matter how great your ass is it’s too heavy.”

 

Ian snagged Charlie’s empty beer bottle adding it to the endless number on the table, stood, pulled Charlie to his feet, sat and pulled Charlie down on his lap. “Better, little Professor?”

 

“Mmm, can switch again after while,” Charlie agreed and leaned in to steal a quick kiss.

 

“Never got so much as a thank you either,” Marshall huffed.

 

“Thank you, Marshall,” Ian chuckled settling his arms around Charlie’s waist. Charlie leaned into him a bit and stayed leaning. 

 

Day after next they’d be apart again. Back to sneaking visits when they could like they had since his mother had gotten sick and Charlie had taken the job at CalSci, with Larry following along and CalSci more than willing to find a place for him too. The amount of government projects and money and prestige the two brought with them, CalSci jumped all over getting them both.

 

Charlie sighed.

 

Ian lifted his hand up and cupped Charlie’s cheek, thumb slid over his cheekbone. “I know, Charlie, I know.” He murmured.

 

Texts, emails, phone calls, not a day passed without something as long as whatever Ian was doing allowed for contact. Ian’s retirement from the FBI wasn’t too far off, three years now, and honestly it might take three years for Charlie to be willing to leave Pasadena, or least move out of the house and leave his dad on his own. The terrifying haze that he’d slipped into, there had been a few days Charlie had been worried about leaving the house just for a few hours to go teach his classes.

 

Charlie leaned his forehead against Ian’s temple and caught Ian’s hand, holding it tightly in his own.

 

“Oh god you two are enough to rot teeth just looking at you.” Daniel blurted, more drunk than not, whatever he had come over to the table for forgotten. 

 

Ian just chuckled and moved Charlie’s hand to his lips to kiss.

 

“How long have you two been together and you’re still acting like that?”

 

“Fourteen years,” Charlie laughed. “Ian tracked me down Thanksgiving fourteen years ago a bit upset.”

 

“Yeah, the goddamn NSA informed me how old you were.” Ian grumbled.

 

“What?” Daniel stared.

 

“Yeah, born in the Phillipines, even if it was an American base, raised abroad…the NSA were mighty curious about me spending a couple days in bed with one of their favorite shiny new assets, Charlie had been doing contract work for a couple years then. Spring break, half drunk hyper little hairball of a dervish that hadn’t shaved in a week, going on about doctorate thesis work and the equation for perfect sex…in a damn over 21 dance club. Yeah I tracked his ass down. Guest of the NSA for two fucking weeks while they were all curious about what I was doing with their _seventeen year old wunderkind_ ”

 

“I had a day of questioning over that too,” Larry said. “I was with Charlie and Marshall and verified that the approach was entirely Charlie’s doing and had been one of three picked out by Marshall for Charlie to attempt to seduce.”

 

“One of three.” Ian raised an eyebrow.

 

“You were the first choice, you really have a fantastic ass.” Charlie grinned. “I wanted you, I would have given Marshall the grand and listened to him crow if you turned me down.”

 

“Like hell you would have.” Ian said dryly. “You and Marshall need put in time out like a pair of four year olds when you’re in the same room half the time.”

 

“You know, you just suck, Eppesie. Only you could turn losing your virginity into an event of National Security.” Marshall shook his head. “You better kiss Ian’s ass regularly for putting up with you.”

 

Charlie laughed, before he could say anything Ian’s hand was over his mouth. “Don’t even go there, Professor.”

 

Charlie just stared at Ian, laughing all the harder at the blush darkening Ian’s cheeks. He nipped Ian’s finger.

 

“Brat.”

 

“Love you,” Charlie smiled and leaned for a kiss.

 

“Oh god you two are just nauseating,” Marshall muttered.

 

“What they are is chicken shits. Fourteen years and haven’t bothered to make it official? Chicken shits,” Daniel huffed. “I freaking dare ya to get married already because this is goddamn ridiculous.”

 

Charlie stared at Daniel in disbelief. Ian’s little brother was drunk off his ass by that even if he wasn’t acting more than mildly buzzed. Wills and power of attorney, medical power of attorney, all of it had been taken care of years since. If anything happened to Charlie, Baz would be notifying Ian long before a hospital sorted it out, Dean was listed with the FBI for Ian just for the sake of keeping anyone from trying to cause trouble for Ian from that angle, but the first thing Dean would do would be to contact Charlie, there was no doubt about that.

 

“It isn’t legal…is it legal? Does Nevada have same sex?” Marshall frowned confused.

 

“So the hell what? Who cares?” Daniel shot back at Marshall. “Doesn’t make any difference with all the legal paperwork they both got already. Legal doesn’t make any difference with them…They’re just chicken shits for not making it official. And Nevada’s went into effect the first of November.”

 

“California would recognize it,” Larry pointed out. “Virginia might not.”

 

“Again, so the hell what?” Daniel huffed.

 

“Point. Why haven’t you gotten married yet, Eppesie?”

 

Charlie stared at Marshall and Daniel.

 

“Freaking dare you two chicken shits,” Daniel repeated.

 

“You are so drunk,” Charlie managed disbelievingly, and he wasn’t sure who was drunker, Marshall or Daniel. Ian’s hand which had fell to Charlie’s thigh sometime during that, squeezed, tension in Ian’s body registering Charlie ignored the two drunk annoyances attention firmly on Ian and his breath caught.

 

“What do you say, Professor?” Ian asked, with a crooked grin and something almost terrified in his eyes.

 

“Really?” Charlie whispered.

 

“Yeah…”

 

“Okay. Yeah. When?”

 

“NOW!” Daniel shouted. “HEY MALAYA!! WE NEED RINGS AND A CHAPEL! THE CHICKEN SHITS ARE FINALLY GETTING MARRIED!”

 

Ian swallowed and just looked at Charlie.

 

Married? Charlie had never even considered it before. He had Ian, what more did he need? Especially when they’d been lucky enough legal documents had only been an inconvenience of time in the same place to get taken care of. Any political activism had been quiet over the years limited to campuses he was on and petition signatures mostly. Politicians he didn’t pay enough attention to any of them to endorse or support any in particular and his government contracts required a certain level of keeping himself circumspect. Getting arrested at a protest of some kind wasn’t going to make any college he worked for happy let alone the NSA. He left the protests and marches to his parents, well, Dad now. 

 

He honestly hadn’t paid that much attention to any of the marriage laws or the 6 o’clock news drama that had surrounded them. Not any more than he paid attention to right to life and pro choice rallies or anything else. His only awareness of those seemed to translate to kicking himself for not paying a bit more attention to time and location of said rallies when he got caught in a mob and was already late for wherever he was going. 

 

He put more effort in being a pain in the ass to the college regents board wherever he’d been, and protesting campus police handling anything more serious than a noise disturbance and patrols. That any crime taking place should be investigated and handled by the police, period, but especially assault and rape that too often got botched or buried. Charlie couldn’t say he had much more faith in the actual police at times but they did better than the campus police who did what the school governors said. That he’d had more than a few cursing him and some retribution over the years but his reputation was too much and the government work meant more grants to ensure he had equipment and access to things that benefitted the entire campus. 

 

Charlie picked his battles a little more carefully due to time and contract restrictions. His dad, and even Don in his way, could go tilting at windmills, Charlie had honestly calculated his time and efforts spent better with students that needed help no matter what the issue they needed help with, his cash better spent donated to the small shelter that took in almost exclusively teenagers in West Hollywood, and most of them gay, trans, something, than throwing it at politics. Activism was a childhood staple, Charlie took more of his mother’s hands on localized approach, taking food to food banks, made a point of several dozen book bags loaded up with school supplies each year, shoes and whatever was on the list of supplies desperately needed by shelters. He tended to go for the hands on, immediate need in front of him. He left the grand causes to his dad, even Don—though Don’s take on such was usually trying to disprove the need for a cause, still on the same grand sweeping windmill tilting style as their dad.

 

Ian’s straight macho as hell cowboy brother knew more about what same sex marriage laws had passed or what was recognized where than Charlie himself did. Maybe he was as oblivious as everyone tended to decide he was…and Ian…Ian was looking at him, face schooled so carefully relaxed but every muscle in his body was tensed up, Charlie could feel it even if it might not be obvious to anyone looking at Ian since he tended to have such a tight military-esque posture anyway.

 

“I, really? I didn’t realize that anything had actually passed,” Charlie murmured.

 

Ian pulled him closer. “You were more concerned with your mom.”

 

Charlie swallowed. 

 

“Not—“

 

Charlie rubbed his fingers over the scar high on Ian’s arm, leaning in and brushing a soft kiss across Ian’s lips, whatever Ian was going to say giving Charlie some kind of out was totally unnecessary. “Yes.”

 

Ian just looked at him.

 

Daniel knew more about what had actually passed where for marriage laws and Ian really, almost desperately, wanted this. God. He was as oblivious as everyone said…

 

“Yes, absolutely yes,” Charlie murmured leaning in and kissing Ian. “I love you.”

 

“Love you too,”

 

Malaya decided they were serious, not just Daniel being drunk and obnoxious, and immediately took over everything. Ian scowled at his mother, Charlie just laughed. “You really want to argue?”

 

“No, but good grief…” 

 

“Why do you always have to touch him right there on his arm? What Ian actually got some kind of tattoo?” Daniel demanded.

 

Charlie frowned. “I didn’t realize I did.”

 

“You do,” Ian said with a smile.

 

Charlie shook his head. “Just you’re really here, can’t believe how lucky I am not…not freaking.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Why…”

 

“First new bullet scar Ian got after we were together,” Charlie said simply.

 

That shut Daniel up.

~*~

Forty-five minutes later Malaya somehow had rings, a fleet of cars and a wedding chapel waiting for them. Tamsin and Maiza had gone up to the suite Maiza and Benigno had and got the kids up. Though the only one that might actually have been sleeping was Caloy, the rest seemed nearly lethally over sugared and hyper. Aian complaining about Rosauro’s movie choice and it was scary, Rosauro complaining Cabot and Dalisay ruined everything between Dalisay’s no don’t believe that’s possible and Cabot’s telling how the stunts were done.

 

“Why are your toe nails neon blue?” Roddy stared at Rosauro’s feet, toenails visible with the flipflops he had on.

 

“I let Cori paint them if she shut up about the movie.”

 

“Right, yeh, not buyin’ that one, kid. Your sister definitely got something on you she’s painting your nails and likely making sure there’s pictures for her friends to laugh at. Not over who picked the movie though.” Roddy snorted.

 

“Dear God, they look more fake-innocent than you and Marshall over fighting when you were undergrads,” Larry gaped.

 

Caloy woke up enough to whine for “Tiyuhin”. Maiza had absolutely no compunctions about plopping her youngest in her older brother’s arms.

 

“Oh, for cryin’ outloud, Malaya!” Dean Edgerton bellowed when they got to the chapel and the mostly drunken group which included the family, Larry, Marshall, Ed Hirschbaum and Bridey Hollister, the General who had been invited along by Dean busy chitchatting away with him, all six grad students that had come with Larry and Charlie (and now somehow armed with cameras by Malaya), Ranie and five of the group that had arrived with her—her PA also armed with a camera. “Woman!”

 

Malaya drew herself up to her full _maybe_ five-two in the lethal stiletto heels she had on and glared up at Dean. Spat out something in Tagalog that had Ian, Maiza, Drigo and Ranie groaning “Ina” Corazon, Rosauro, Aian and Dalisay staring at their grandmother in shock.

 

“A—“ Dean broke off and frowned.

 

“Drag King, Dad,” Ian and Daniel said in near unison, Ian exasperated and Daniel just barely containing the giggles.

 

“A Drag King dressed as Elvis?”

 

“It is Las Vegas.” Malaya shot back smartly. “And if that bitch you’re married to ever sees the pictures she’ll lose her mind.”

 

“She’s got a point Dad, Ma’ll shit a brick.” Daniel started giggling. “I’m with Malaya.”

 

“You’re drunk as a skunk,” Ian shook his head at Daniel.

 

“Oh, c’mon, like you don’t think my mother shitting a brick isn’t a bonus too.”

 

“You got a point, I fucking hate that bitch. If she wasn’t you and Jessica’s mother I’d probably be in jail for blowing her goddamn head off.” Ian said flatly.

 

“Hmph, I have considered hiring it done. Your brother and sister did not deserve to lose their mother that way no matter how much I would like to see that bitch die very slowly for how she has treated you.” Malaya agreed.

 

“You divorced Malaya in a heart beat why the hell are you still with mom?” Daniel demanded. “Never have figured that out.”

 

“I didn’t want to divorce Malaya!”

 

“I divorced him! He was stubborn pigheaded fool!”

 

“I like you both a lot better when you’re on separate continents.” Ian shook his head. “If you start the why you got divorced argument now, you can go wait in the damn car while Charlie and I get married.”

 

“The one you should have divorced was Baltazar!” Ranie huffed.

 

“Yell at your brother for that! He told me he would not speak to me if I let him be the cause of you and Maiza not having your father.”

 

“I would have rather had my brother!” Ranie shot back.

 

“You’re all drunk and crazy. Can we get this over with?” Drigo declared.

 

Charlie couldn’t help but laugh. Ian pulled him close with one arm, Caloy held high half laying over his shoulder sound asleep in the other. “Too late to run, Professor.”

 

“Never, you’re stuck with me.”

 

“Good.” Ian smiled.

 

It had never crossed his mind, never even fleetingly. Marriage had never been anywhere in his plans ever, probably why the changes in laws never registered or even were anything he made the vaguest attempt to follow with his tendency to ignore politics and get tunnel vision on the things he did care about, could do something about. Tunnel vision had gotten all the more the last few years, even before his mom had gotten sick. He felt kind of guilty for that lack when in the last hour it had become the one thing he wanted more than anything. It was that important to Ian, and obviously to Malaya and Dean and the rest of Ian’s family. His mother would have…she would have been thrilled too.

 

Maybe that was a shitty reason to get married, but even if it was legal and would be recognized in California, it didn’t make any real difference to them, they had absolutely everything but that last piece of paper. Even it wasn’t recognized most places, even if it hadn’t been legal, this…yeah, he wanted this. For Ian, maybe for himself too, a promise that taking care of his dad wasn’t going to last forever, that they’d deal with Don one way or another.

 

Malaya took to arranging everyone to where she thought they should be, and Dean loudly complaining she was the bossiest damned woman in creation.

 

“Why are you looking so guilty? Ina can just have a fit if—“

 

“No, I want this,” Charlie said. “I want this—just how disconnected I’ve gotten, even before mom…”

 

Ian’s thumb found its way to the crook of Charlie’s elbow. “You’re here. You’re healthy. Doesn’t matter.”

 

“Seems like it should.”

 

Ian shook his head. “Nope, don’t you dare, Professor, don’t you dare. I know you, you’ve done plenty, just had to keep your focus immediate, so what?”

 

“Kinda a big what…”

 

Ian kissed him. “You’re not going to get yourself worked up into a math episode tonight. Everything my family’s done far as political efforts and petitions and contributions has been as much for you as me. So don’t start that.”

 

That was news to Charlie, but it probably shouldn’t have been. Just getting through one day to the next had been his focus for almost two years, and then when he maybe could have looked beyond his own nose his mom got sick. 

 

“How did I get so lucky?”

 

“I’m the lucky one.”

 

“Ian! Charlie! Get over here and get married! You can make out later!” Malaya called out imperiously.

 

Ian and Charlie both burst out laughing.

 

“We ever do this official like, we’re eloping, Drigo,” Roddy declared loudly.

 

“You are not!” Malaya glared at Roddy.


	11. June 2005, Los Angeles, California

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ticking off the to do list--sniper zero Nathan Crane, the eyes only level accounting job Sebastian Brett brought, telling his dad...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: canon character-of-the-week death (Nathan Crane)

His hand was scraped, so was his forearm. It felt like he had a massive bruise on his back from David’s arm, his leg was killing him.

 

Nathan Crane was dead.

 

Ian had killed him.

 

Crane was shooting at people. Ian had the shot, took it. Cold, calculating, matter of fact. That was Ian’s job, or a good part of it. He was the top sniper in the FBI, and really he only worked part time for the FBI with as much as other agencies ‘borrowed’ him. He was a tracker, a hunter, a _sniper_ one of the best in the world. DC strong arming, pissing matches and political footsie over who got to have Ian’s gun for what was really for one reason—he was absolutely that good of a shot.

 

This wasn’t the first time Charlie had been confronted with Ian killing. The first time had been in 92. A group of terrorists had taken control of a hotel in Calcutta. Charlie hadn’t been the clearest on what the terrorists were after, what group they belonged to, or if they were after much of anything at all other than attention and lots of dead bodies. That…that had been terrifying. And chance had a couple of American citizens in the mix of hostages. Charlie had never been told who they were or why they were so important. Ian might have known, or at least had pictures to know what the pair looked like. 

 

 

That had also been the first time Charlie had seen close up carnage. He’d been on site, along with an Army engineer and a computer expert that Charlie still wasn’t sure was CIA or not. Didn’t matter then and certainly didn’t after all this time. That had been the first time he’d come near doing anything like he was now for…well, technically the FBI though he meant it for Don.

 

David was freaking out patting him down and…

 

Charlie reached up ignoring the aches he was still trying to catalog. Military hand signal for ‘all clear’ might not be the most accurate or best, but Ian was up there watching with his scope and would get it.

 

 

“Charlie…”

 

“Just stretching. Get off me. I’m fine.”

 

“Shooter…”

 

“Crane is dead.”

 

 

“Charlie—“

 

“Second shot from the building over there. Ian didn’t miss.”

 

Laser site blinked on the ground in front of Charlie. Once, twice. The angle and direction it came from was enough to pinpoint Ian’s location and know he’d gotten the message Charlie was fine. 

 

“David. Get off me NOW!” Charlie snapped and twisted enough to shove David.

 

David moved, mostly too shocked not to at Charlie’s tone of voice and sat back against the car staring at Charlie in disbelief.

 

“Okay, ow….” Charlie sat up and leaned back against the squad car he’d been walking next to, inventorying and calculating. Ian made the shot, and knowing Ian’s capabilities, having calculated shots he knew Ian had made in the past, even factoring in weather conditions which just now were as ideal as southern California got, humidity wasn’t what it could be, neither was the heat, and it was actually a fairly clear day with not much for smog, or smoke with wildfire season coming up fast. The ideal sort of day that was the romanticized perfect of California. Clear shot, not anywhere near pushing Ian’s comfort zone for distance. Nathan Crane was very dead.

 

“Charlie—“

 

“I’m fine, Don, go. You have a body to process up on…twenty-fifth floor.” Charlie said, a glance, simple addition of windows and the one he was squinting hard to see knocked out. Yeah, twenty-fifth, he took a second count just to make sure. 

 

Don stared at him in shock.

 

“I know Ian’s capabilities, I’ve calculated Ian’s capabilities more than once before, and recalculated them over the years. Optimal weather conditions, easily within distance comfort zone, this was a routine shot for him. Crane’s dead. Go deal with the body, and be glad you’re not going to deal with the possibility of Crane walking over technicalities.”

 

“You’re not freaking out?”

 

Charlie just glared. “Pulse rapid, slightly erratic, adrenaline very spiked, pain muted, over all, scraped up and mild shock. I’m fine. Going to have a sore back and the scrapes I got are going to be a bitch tomorrow. I’m fine.”

 

Don just gave him a pissy look and stalked off with a sneer.

 

“Okay, I’m not a basket case that is detracting from what needs to be done now….how the hell did that piss him off?”

 

“Shocked him? You’re taking this pretty well.” David managed.

 

“You? You okay?”

 

“My knee is going to hate me, so is my elbow, when I get around to being able to feel them again, heart beat raised and erratic and definite adrenaline overload,” David snorted almost seeming amused.

 

“Your knee okay, and your elbow? You took some of my weight, didn’t crack them on the concrete did you?”

 

David stared at him. Ambulance sirens were coming closer at speeds well above speed limit by the sound.

 

Charlie bit back the irritation at that. Standard procedure. Shots fired, multiple law enforcement. Ambulances would be sent as a matter of course even if in this case not particularly necessary. When the ambulances and how many LAPD cars came piling into, Charlie had calculated their ETA and smugly congratulated himself with being within three seconds, not perfect, but certainly not a dismal failure. Pounds per square inch impact on David’s knee and elbow calculated, David’s responses and reactions, definitely shock. Definitely needed checked at. Charlie got to his feet and shouted for a medic, David tried but didn’t manage to do anything but yelp and land hard on his ass.

 

“Professor!” was barked from a few feet away as the EMTs were fussing at David’s knee. 

 

Charlie waved off the EMT trying to get at him and moved toward Ian. Ian was wound so tight, when Charlie got a chance to get his hands on his husband he calculated it was going to take at least an hour to get the knots to even loosen, forget getting worked out any time soon. Ian’s jaw was tight, teeth not quite clenched together, eyes blazing cold. Charlie supposed Ian looked terrifying, but all Charlie saw was far too many tells, too similar to the nights Ian woke up breathing so deliberately and slowly drenched in sweat.

 

“Adrenaline receding, probably at eighty percent of what the peak spike was. Minor scrapes a couple bruises by tomorrow. Don and whoever he has with him have reached the body by now.”

 

Ian scowled and reached for Charlie’s arm.

 

Charlie gave a tired smile and shook his head at the brush of Ian’s thumb at the bend of his elbow. “Calm numbers, I’m good.”

 

Ian gave a little sigh at that. Charlie quirked the corner of his mouth, hint of a smile. Ian had understood. The numbers were fine, calculations running through his head were calming him. Danger was done and over with. Ian hadn’t missed and he knew it.

 

“Twenty, twenty-two?” Charlie asked quietly eyes dropping to Ian’s wrist and the watch on it

 

“Yeah, something like that.” Ian nodded.

 

“Get Baz’s file gone through tonight. Nice non exciting simple.”

 

“Get checked.”

 

“I will, think they’re taking David in. I’ll ride along.”

 

“Good.” Ian looked at the slightly bemused medic. “Notify Brett, now. Have him meet you there.”

 

“I’m not going to need him but I will. Go, get this done with. You have three point seven hours of paperwork for the shot you took and that’s just the paperwork.”

 

Ian laughed. “That’s all the longer the paperwork’s going to take?”

 

“If you don’t bitch and moan about how much you hate it and just do it, yes.”

 

“Get out of here. Brett…”

 

Charlie sighed and pulled his phone from his pocket wincing a little at the scrape on his palm aggravating. “What hospital will you be taking David and me to?”

 

He dialed Brett and left the voicemail. “Go. The numbers are steady, I’m fine. Get this done.”

 

“Twenty to twenty two professor.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“What? What was that?” David asked as Ian walked off.

 

“Let’s just get you to the hospital and your knee taken care of,” Charlie shook his head.

 

David just stared. He was staring more en route to the hospital when Charlie waved off a shot of some kind of pain killer. He was feeling the landing on concrete and the scrapes almost completely now, adrenaline back to normal, and fast enough reduction to leave him a bit shaky.

 

“Please…something to calm you…”

 

“I’m calm, and I was just tackled. Few scrapes is all. No pain medication, no sedative. One, I’m an addict, two I can’t have anything stronger than a Tylenol without an NSA agent present. The last time I ended up with bronchitis my handler moved in with me for two weeks because I was on cough syrup with codeine.” Charlie shifted and pulled his wallet and the card displayed prominently in it. “I’ve already called my handler and he’ll meet us at the hospital, and fuss like a mother hen. After twelve years he’s pretty much family rather than just handler, and he is annoyingly fussy. I’m fine, math is better than medication anyway. Calms me a lot better.”

 

David stared at him.

 

“What?”

 

“Don know….”

Charlie shrugged. “Don’s…Don.” Don knew that he had done government contract work, that he’d had a clearance rating before he’d ever worked as a consultant for the FBI. Don even knew that he had done work for the NSA, at least, he should. Whether Don actually paid attention to that or believed that, Charlie had no clue. That Charlie couldn’t go to the dentist without Sebastian Brett along, and needed a dentist’s office that had already been vetted, was not likely. Absolutely no reason for Don to know that. Don didn’t know he was an addict.

 

“What? Addict? Really Charlie? You smoke a joint in college?

 

“No. Private work, great pay in fluid dynamics, cocaine, heroin, fuck I love opiates, opiates are fucking awesome. They make the numbers stop. Pills, lots and lots of pills, oxycodone, valium, Xanax, anything I got my hands on. I’ve been clean four and a half years. Beer is the only thing I drink anymore. Doesn’t do anything, doesn’t touch the numbers. Ian will make me drink a glass of wine if I’m on a streak too long of the numbers not letting me sleep. Wine puts me out like a light if I drink a couple glasses fast enough, numbers don’t stop but it makes me so groggy I can sleep through them. Baz has been known to call and get an opinion on me needing wine too.”

 

“Ian…you know Edgerton well?”

 

Charlie snorted. “Don’t ask about that yet, David. Just consider yourself forewarned, Don’s going to be losing his mind the next week or so.”

 

David spent the rest of the ride staring at Charlie like he’d sprouted a second head.

~*~

“Charlie! Donny called. They got the sniper…”

 

“Yeah, I heard uhm…”

 

“Oh…didn’t realize you had company, Charlie,”

 

Charlie grinned. “Nah, Baz doesn’t count as company. Baz, this is my dad, Allan. Dad this is Agent Sebastian Brett. He’s with the NSA. He’s been my handler—and Larry’s for that matter---since 93.”

 

His dad stared shell-shocked a second. “You worked for the NSA when you were twenty-one?”

 

“Actually, since I was fifteen, dad. Just Baz has been with Larry and I for twelve years now.”

 

“Pleasure to meet you again Mr. Eppes.” Baz said.

 

His dad frowned, comprehension suddenly lit as he realized when and where he met Baz before. “You—you were at my wife’s funeral?”

 

“Yes, I was. She was an amazing woman. I had the privilege of meeting her several times. And when she came to Stanford because Charlie had bronchitis, I think I gained ten pounds from her cooking.”

 

“I need an agent present when I’m administered any possible mind-altering medication. A week and a half of cough syrup with codeine meant Baz on the couch while I was taking it.”

 

“Where are you thinking of setting up?”

 

“Garage. I don’t have anything on the chalkboards out there at the moment, plenty of room to spread out.”

 

“I’ll go sweep it then.” Baz said and slipped through the house with a familiarity that said he’d not only been there but been there often in the past that seemed to boggle his father.

 

“You—Charlie! Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“I believe the exact words were ‘Charlie NO! I don’t want to hear a thing about it! No! Charlie you can’t seriously think of doing government work. Not another word!’” Charlie said quietly. “Most of it couldn’t say anything about anyway. Mom only knew bits because I was living with her in Princeton, and I was fifteen when I took the first contract. She insisted on coming up when I was sick so…she mostly cooked and played checkers with Baz while I was wasted on cough syrup. I’ve kept anything and everything away from the house since because you never wanted to hear about it or know about it but...it is my house right? I’d rather be comfortable and have my chalkboards in the garage than. If it’s going to bother you too much, we can get a hotel room, but I do need to get this job done. Then I need to get Larry’s calculations done. And grade papers. Tempted to make Baz grade my papers. Answer key is straightforward enough. Be one less thing on the to do list.”

 

His dad just gaped a long moment. “No this is your home. More than that you bought the house! If you want to work for the NSA in the garage, you can.”

 

“You sure?” Charlie asked carefully.

 

“You….Your mother knew about this?”

 

“She went over the first contracts with me, taught me what to look for in them. Confidentiality clauses, I was her client not her son on that—and you….always got so upset about anything like that. I’m not so sure you’re over Don joining the FBI…I…it never was an issue until I moved back here when mom got sick and I’ve managed to get stuff done in hotel rooms when I’ve had contracts. But, honest, it’s a pain in the ass I’m really fed up with when I can use the garage, I have it set up to work in anyway…”

 

“It’s your house! Of course you can use the garage…” his dad said looking at him. “I—Charlie, this is your home…”

 

“I know.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Dad, I didn’t want the—it was a conscious decision to keep most of my life well away from the house when mom was sick. Mom knew and…wasn’t too happy about any of it. But…the point was that she needed to worry about her health and didn’t need the drama of…everything.”

 

“So…” His dad looked upset, almost devastated. “You told Amita you were gay and married, your mother knew that too.”

 

“I told Amita that yes, and true enough for government work. I’m married to man. No mom didn’t know—well, she knew him. Knew I was seeing him, have seen him…met him when I was seventeen. Wasn’t a monogamous commitment until I was twenty two. He’s almost ten years older than I am, didn’t realize I was seventeen when we met and had a fit when he found out…and basically ordered me to date as much as I could and be sure about what I wanted. We got married after mom passed…the physics conference, the Thanksgiving right after mom died.”

 

“Was he at the funeral?”

 

“No. No he wasn’t. He wasn’t even in the country. He was completely out of contact for three months, it was over a month after she was gone that he was even somewhere that a message would be given to him. Don applying to Quantico…pretty much decided we were keeping things to ourselves. Don getting pissed and kicking a hornets nest would have…been life-threatening, My husband is technically FBI, but he gets ‘loaned’ out a lot to both the CIA and NSA, and has been pulled back into the military for some operations, like the one he was on when mom passed. He was with a special Ops team for five months, six weeks training together, with him in the mix and then the operation whatever it was. He mostly works solo or gets sent where he’s needed, no home office or team, no guarantee of being able to watch his back from the wrong idiot and Don…well, we just…he’s got a year left to have his twenty in with the bureau.”

 

“How did you meet?”

 

“Spring Break I went to Miami with Larry and Marshall. Picked him up in a dance club. He tracked me down at Princeton a few months later because the NSA picked him up and questioned him for two weeks. FBI agent that had been raised abroad. Military father, foreign born mother. And I had several very high level clearance projects around that time too. The NSA even questioned Larry who said no, Marshall bet me I couldn’t get the hot guy at the bar in bed and I did. I made the approach and it was Marshall that picked him. He tracked me down and just—god, I think how old I was almost killed him. But he braved mom, risked his career, jail time, just to I don’t even know what, how old I was really destroyed him. He met me and Larry in Vegas year and a half ago, his brother was there too, he’s a bronc rider. Rodeo championships there he was in, so well, all my in-laws were there, both sides because his mother packed everyone up to visit since he hadn’t gotten a chance to visit her, neither had I, we were both going to be in the same place—and where Don wouldn’t be to possibly have a fit before he thought better of it. One thing led to another and we got married. That was actually part Marshall’s fault. Daniel called us chicken shits that were nauseating, why didn’t we get married, Marshall agreed and we…basically got dared to get married and went with it. After fourteen years that started with a thousand dollar bet over getting laid and everything we’ve been through, why not get married on a dare? Three in the damn morning, kids got dragged out of bed—“

 

 

“Kids?”

 

 

“The sister just younger than him has five. And his brother’s best friend that his mom claimed as an extra kid has two, only had one at the time Cabot. Tamsin was just pregnant with Hazel then but I don’t think she realized it yet. Our oldest niece and nephew were babysitting. Corazon was sixteen and Rosauro fourteen at the time. Kids were all up in a suite tucked in and the oldest two in charge. Dalisay, our other niece, she’s into physics, she’s ten now and just smart as a whip and email buddies with Larry. But got the kids and went to the chapel and got married. I’m pretty sure Ed Hirschbaum has yet to get it through his head that Dalisay and Caloy aren’t ours, that they’re Maiza’s. He met his fiance at that conference, she raises rodeo stock in Texas, my father-in-law’s neighbor, sort of, two ranches over or something like that. My father-in-law and her dad were friends growing up at any rate. But the wedding invitation came to CalSci, Dr & Mr Eppes and Family.”

 

“He took your name?”

 

“No, neither of us has changed our names and won’t…I shit. Dad…I…”

 

“The scary little woman here after your mother’s funeral, Polynesian or…”

 

“Filipino. Malaya, yeah, that is my mother in law. She flew half way around the world to make it in time I don’t know how she did, even with just the logistics of the flights, she had to have gone from the airport straight to the Temple to have made it in time like she did. Dean would have had a hard enough time getting here from Texas. They knew Ian was out of contact and couldn’t make it, they both made it for him. And me but…you know what I mean.”

 

Charlie watched his father worriedly. His dad made his way to the dining room table with the kind of very deliberate careful steps of the very drunk still managing a straight line or the very far in shock in this case.

 

He hadn’t meant to tell his dad like this. He…really hadn’t had any clue how to tell his dad. Blurting had always worked in the past, but his mom wasn’t around to run interference once the blurting was done. But… well there wasn’t any good way to try to break any of it to him and, honestly, his dad wasn’t the one he worried about so much, not his reaction to…well, not like Don.

 

“My son in law…what, what did that woman say…I want to say Tequila but—think that’s mostly because I could use a shot…”

 

Charlie was very proud of himself for not laughing at his dad trying to remember what Malaya had said her oldest’s name was. That Malaya had made such an impression on his dad was almost surprising. No, not almost, his dad was so far in a haze that evening that it was very surprising he remembered that.

 

“Ian, his name is Ian. Ian Dakila Mercado Edgerton. Ian worked with Don for ten months in Fugitive Retrieval and…was pretty much dead set on just avoiding everything until he was at a point that if Don did have a fit at the wrong people, it didn’t matter. He’s been out here, on the sniper case and…Don or not, we’re just done with it. I’d very much prefer my husband come home between assignments rather than stare at a hotel room wall hoping I can break away to go see him for a couple hours like we’ve done God. Three years now. Almost. After the better part of eight years that Ian just came home between assignments…and everything else. It’s been…it sucks dad, honestly, that’s all I can say about it. It sucks.”

 

“Your mother was in New Jersey for six years. Phone calls and holidays and the odd weekend. Yes. Sucks is a good description.”

 

Charlie winced guiltily. “Sorry I—“

 

“No. No don’t you apologize for Princeton. Don’t Charlie. Your mother was right, and I’m so glad she won that argument. The distance sucked. But it was worth it, it was the right thing for you, and I don’t regret a minute of that, and neither did she. Don’t be guilty over that, don’t you dare Charlie.”

 

Charlie looked at his dad skeptically. Baz came back in. “Clear out there.”

 

“Okay just give me two minutes.” Charlie agreed. Baz slipped back into the kitchen.

 

“That—whatever he brought for you that important?”

 

“Yeah,” Charlie said simply.

 

“You better get to it then.”

 

“I will, when I’m sure you’re okay.”

 

“I’m fine, Charlie don’t worry about me.”

 

“I am calling so much bullshit on that, dad.”

 

His dad looked at him as if he’d never seen Charlie before, then chuckled a bit. “She told me, not exactly, but she did. When you were about fourteen or so, she had a…hypothetical inquisition what if one of you boys liked boys. She knew better than that. She knew I’d been with a few guys, usually girls involved in that too—what, quit looking like that, Charlie!”

 

Charlie schooled his face blank. 

“It was—there was one. That wasn’t an orgy that just sort of happened…but. No your mother knew better than to think I would ever have a problem with one of you boys dating a man. I—honestly, I figured it was Donny. That she’d seen something she probably shouldn’t have, wasn’t going to outright say it but dropped enough in that hypothetical situation that I had the idea.”

 

“You thought Don was gay?”

 

“Your brother’s dating record…he can get the girls but loses them as fast as he gets them. If anyone has a behavior pattern that reads like pathologically trying to stay in a closet it’s your brother.”

 

Charlie couldn’t stop the calculations and statistics that raced through his mind, his jaw dropped slightly. “Never thought about it, but you have a point.”

 

His dad chuckled weakly.

 

“Dad…”

 

“Go. Do whatever you need to in the garage. If it’s that important, go, get it done. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

 

“You okay with Baz hanging around here? He’s going to have to while I’m working on this. It’s his job. If it’s going to be a problem we can go…”

 

“No! This is your home! You bought the house. If your NSA handler needs to be here while you work on whatever that is. That’s all there is to it.”

 

Charlie winced. “I—I really do need to get this done. Would you be okay if Ian ended up here some time tonight?”

 

“He’s your husband right?”

 

“Yeah. We’ve been together more or less since I was seventeen. Sixteen years now. Married a year and a half.”

 

His dad looked a little shaky and pale but nodded resolutely. “You own the house, Charlie, it’s your house, your home. Your husband better start showing up here!”

Charlie retreated to the garage without another word said, though he was calling himself a coward through the numbers all the way.

 

He owed Baz. He caught a bit of the conversation starting between Baz and his father on the way out the kitchen door to the garage.

~*~

He’d hoped Ian would show up by eight, but it was after ten. Just as well really. Don had been there and gone. Baz had slipped out into the garage when Don showed up and their dad hadn’t said a word about Baz’ presence, or anything else. 

 

“You eat?” was Ian’s greeting as he slipped into the garage.

 

“I smell pizza,” Charlie said not looking up at all. The numbers were so wrong, so very wrong. And he couldn’t find where they were wrong. That was flat out pissing him off. He was a mathematician. Simple accounting should be simple. Well it wasn’t simple, it was on the scale of a fortune 500 company but still, it was straight forward accounting.

 

“Yeah, your nose still works.”

 

“Go. Baz probably has the assistant contract. I need help.”

 

“Eat.”

 

“Help.”

 

“Eat.” Ian insisted and a slice of pizza was held in front of Charlie’s face. Charlie simply took a big bite, Ian catching the piece of pepper that decided to try to drop on the papers he had spread out. “Mmmm good. Get paperwork signed I need help.”

 

“It’s a good thing I love you, Professor.”

 

“You can feed me after you sign what you need to.”

 

Ian laughed at him and left the garage, and left the pizza behind. Evil. It smelled delicious and Charlie’s stomach rumbled. Ian was back, well, Charlie didn’t think it was too much later. Long enough to go over papers and talk to Baz a second.

 

“Baz says if you don’t go to Hirschbaum’s wedding he’s going to beat you. He deserves a couple days surfing in Hawaii for getting interrogated by your father.”

 

“Dad’s nothing. Mom was the interrogator.” Charlie said distractedly.

 

“Are you going to eat?”

 

“Working.”

 

Ian just sighed and Charlie had the piece of pizza he’d already taken a bit out of held in front of his mouth again. “Mmm that is really good pizza.”

 

“It’s okay pizza, you haven’t eaten for two days according to Baz.”

 

“That’s why it’s overloaded supreme with enough veggies for six pizzas?”

 

“Yeah.” Ian chuckled.

 

“I love you.”

 

“Love you too, now what’s got the numbers in such a tizzy you can’t do basic accounting?”

 

“I am a mathematician not a cryptographer. Data identifiers stripped out of this means it’s that much harder to pin what is real and what isn’t. Way too much clutter and….”

 

Ian grabbed him and pulled him away from the papers he had spread out. “Okay break time.”

 

“I—“

 

“Break time. Eat two pieces of pizza, go piss, splash some water on your face. You need to step back for fifteen. I’ll look, see if the patterns jump out anywhere.”

 

Charlie stared at Ian a long moment. “Yeah, I---“

 

“Is it Crane or dumping your work history and me on your dad?”

 

“Both, neither…Dad…Dad thought Don was gay.”

 

Ian burst out laughing at that and laughed all the harder when Charlie said what his dad’s reasoning was and agreed with it. “Your dad’s got a point but I think mostly it’s just he’s a commitment-phobic jackass when it comes to women.”

 

“Equally valid hypothesis,” Charlie grinned.

 

Ian pulled him close. “You okay?”

 

“Scraped, David’s knee got the worst of the landing even if he tackled me. Sore, got winded, maybe a bruise on my back…”

 

Ian just looked at him.

 

“You had the shot, you took the shot. Someone was going to end up dead once he started shooting.” Charlie said unsteadily.

 

Ian just held him and waited.

 

“I’m more upset I’m okay with it, than that it happened. The okay with it is bugging the hell out of me. I’ve never been this okay with it before.”

 

“You’ve never been on scene to see blood splatter on the cement like this before either. You saw the photos, saw the crime scenes and most of the bodies while they were still at the crime scenes. Not like the disaster in 92.”

 

“Yeah…” Charlie sighed. “The crime scenes are…”

 

“Level of detachment is necessary, numb to the gore, to the endless details that are usually off the same list of possibilities just different combinations from one to the next. It’s the ones that get really creative and go looking in some medieval torture playbook that are the real stuff of nightmares. Brain protects itself, reduces the scene to facts, to…parts of the equation needed to catch the perp.” 

 

Charlie sighed again and pressed his face into Ian’s neck. “I’m here, I’m okay.”

 

“I know.”

 

“You took the shot before you knew.”

 

“I was watching for the shot, for where he was.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I’m getting you a goddamn vest, and you’re going to have it with you, and wear it when you’re on a scene with Don.”

 

“That presumes he’s still talking to me after this weekend.”

 

“Well, you’re getting a goddamn vest, and you’re going to have it with you and wear it when you’re out with LAPD or the Bureau. You trying to tell me you’re going to give up on putting your math to crime?”

 

“No, I—it makes a difference. It—Ian the possibilities of what my math is used for…I- I need to…do something…”

 

“All I’m saying is you’re going to have a goddamn vest and where it while you’re doing this. Okay? Please. For me.”

 

“Yeah, I promise. I—“ Charlie just leaned into Ian and if Ian held him tight enough that the aches and bruises started throbbing again, it really didn’t matter. He’d been the one watching, not knowing for almost twenty minutes if Ian was alive before. Even those few moments it took to shake off the stun of being tackled had been hell for Ian and he knew it. “He fired, you would have taken the shot when you had it no matter who he fired at.”

 

“You know that.”

 

Charlie kissed Ian’s jaw. “Dad….looked like he was going to stroke out. I…kind of…”

 

“Dropped a bomb on his head? At least that’s what Brett said. Your dad was kinda shocky all evening and asking questions. Brett said he answered…mostly.”

 

“Mmm. I—“

 

Ian chuckled and kissed him. “Can’t think there was much of a way to ease into breaking any of it to him.”

 

“Not really.”

 

“I already signed all Brett’s papers before I came out here. You go. Eat, piss, hell take ten and grab a shower. Get your head cleared. Get some coffee for us. And I’ll look for any patterns that are looking wonky.”

 

Charlie pulled back enough and kissed him. “You’re not going to do the math?”

 

“Why? I got you,” Ian grinned, teasing. “There a calculator around here?”

 

Charlie stared at him.

 

“Yes. Calculator.”

 

“I think my laptop has a calculator,” Charlie said. “I—I honestly don’t know if there are any around here.”

 

Ian just laughed at him. “Go, get something in you and get your head cleared, Professor.”

 

“Text Larry. It won’t wake him if he’s asleep, but if he isn’t he can help to. Get this cleared out.” Charlie said. 

 

“Mmm, yeah, anything to get you to his calculations faster.” Ian agreed.

 

Charlie kissed him again. “What do you think about Pasadena?”

 

“Don’t you think you should have asked before you bought the house?” Ian snorted.

 

“Probably.”

 

“You and Larry are happy at CalSci. Less bullshit than you had at Stanford right?”

 

“Yeah…”

 

“So, Pasadena’s just fine. I’m good wherever. You need a school that’s actually in your league, that’s always limited where we’ll end up.”

 

Charlie nodded. There was that. “Dad…”

 

“We’ll worry about that tomorrow, day at a time. Brett thought he’d be okay once he wrapped his head around everything.”

 

“Yeah… Dad’s…never known what to make of me but…”

 

“Mama fell in love with the man, that says a lot in my book. He might not have figured out how to cope with your brains yet, but he’d do anything for you. He’ll come around. I can’t imagine he won’t. Mama was too nuts about the man for anything else to even be an option.”

 

“Needed this, needed you…”

 

“I’m here. Now you need to eat, at least splash some water on your face and get some coffee, and we’ll get Brett’s goddamn accounting job out of the way.”

 

“Dealing with Dad tonight was probably ample payback for a freaking bookkeeping job.” Charlie grinned.

 

“Yeah, but don’t let him hear you say that. Now go.”


	12. June 2005, Los Angeles, California

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don finds out, there are tantrums and national security issues, and extra spectators

Charlie rubbed his hands over his face, yawning. 

 

“Got coffee and Tylenol. Brett went to bed. Your dad is golfing. Brett said he took off like at six thirty?”

 

“Third Saturday. Dad goes golfing every third Saturday with two guys from the windowers support group he goes to sometimes,” Charlie nodded. “Baz—“

 

“I sent him to bed. Deal with the gun.”

 

Charlie took the coffee Ian held out to him and ignored the handgun sat down on the table. He hadn’t noticed the gun honestly. He was far more interested in the coffee and Tylenol. Not even shirtless and barefoot in only a pair of sweatpants stolen from Charlie’s drawer was more interesting than coffee just now. “For the record, I hate accounting.”

 

“Okay, you hate math?”

 

“I hate the tedium of an accounting audit.”

 

“Mmm, you make progress?”

 

“That next batch there for you to go over. I’m almost done with what you picked apart before you went to take a nap. Larry called a little while ago, he should be here soon. He was going to stop and get donuts. More paper and ink.”

 

“Sounds good.” Ian agreed and leaned in for a kiss. 

 

“I can’t decide if whoever managed this is a genius or just a freaking moron.”

 

Ian laughed. “You don’t think some of it is honest clerical error?”

 

“Clerical error to the tune of a few million?”

 

“All it takes is a dropped zero somewhere.”

 

 

Charlie made a face. He was a mathematician not an accountant. He had never had a job quite like this brought to him before and he really hoped it was an entirely unique event. Five copies of the same data, separate copies taken at either different times or different places where it was entered. Charlie didn’t quite know specifically with all identifiers including dates stripped from the data, leaving them with nothing but tedious, meaningless numbers. It was enough to make him see why others hated math, thought it was boring or some kind of torture.

 

“You have your ring on.” Charlie blurted as Ian reached for the stack of printouts.

 

“There a reason why I shouldn’t?”

 

“No…you should. You absolutely should,” Charlie said. “Just caught me by surprise. I’ve been so caught in this.”

 

Charlie reached for the clasp of the simple chain necklace he wore. He was not going to be sorry to see the necklace go, not at all. It was irritating and it always managed to somehow catch and pull hair, whether the hair at the nape of his neck or the odd chest hair, one way or another it caught and pulled hair. His ring slid off the chain and quickly put on, chain shoved in his pocket. “That’s much better.” 

 

“You good to keep going with this or you need a couple hours on the chalkboard?”

 

“I’m good,” Charlie said quietly. Not even Larry quite comprehended how the numbers actually worked for Charlie. Boring tedious accounting was, well, boring and tedious and very painfully slow going but it was actually about the best thing he could have had dumped on him just now. He really truly hoped never again, but just now they were good. Straightforward, simple numbers no matter how mind numbing. Necessity and purpose to them, and even with the clearance level and urgency attached to them they were calming numbers, steadying numbers. 

 

“Then back to it.” 

 

Charlie nodded and turned his attention back to the stack he was working on. They’d printed _everything_ or at least as much as there had been paper and ink for, even with Ian’s middle of the night shopping Baz had put in a call for delivery of more of both paper and ink for the printers Charlie had sometime that day. Larry was going to get what he could find as well. There was going to be a very big bonfire Monday or Tuesday.

 

Baz had been with Charlie and Larry long enough to comprehend genius did not necessarily mean blinding speed when it came to simpler math. The accounting records were as basic of math as could be, but it was overwhelming mountains of monotonous basic math, that without any kind of identifier—not date, not what was office supply or even toilet paper or something equally innocuous, nothing—that there was only painstaking comparison of one page to the next and one column of numbers to the next. Without so much as invoices—invoices.

 

“We need the invoices,” Charlie growled a while later.

 

“Yeah, that’d help.” Ian frowned. “Let Baz have a couple hours, then we’ll get him on that. We need something else, because finding a clerical error or not isn’t going to make a bit of difference when the numbers are faked somewhere.”

 

“There’s definitely clerical errors and the three copies so far don’t match.”

 

“Stay,” Ian growled grabbing the gun off the table at Larry’s suddenly loud voice near the door to the garage.

 

“Fuck.” Charlie sighed. Don arguing with Larry and Amita chiming in she could help. 

 

Charlie didn’t stay, he followed Ian and stood right behind him when he opened up the door. He did pull his phone and dialed Baz. “Need you down at the garage—NOW! Ian needs backup.” By the time he ended the call, Ian had the safety off and the muzzle of his gun pressed against Amita’s forehead. Don, Terry, and David looking slightly bleary and on crutches, were staring in shock.

 

“I hate this part,” Larry sighed. “Bloodshed doesn’t go well with brunch, even such as it is merely donuts.”

 

“Get any chocolate filled?” Ian asked.

 

“Of course I did. A full dozen. You and Charles are ridiculous about chocolate.” 

 

Charlie settled his hand on Ian’s left shoulder, careful not to interfere with his gun arm. “You get paper and ink?”

 

“Yes I did, should I call Sebastian?”

 

“Already did. Baz is on his way—there he is. Good Morning Baz.”

 

“Was it not explained they didn’t have clearance.”

 

“I tried, I did. Donald wasn’t inclined to listen.” Larry said tiredly.

 

“Who the hell are you? Where did you come from?”

 

“That is Sebastian Brett, he’s with the NSA and he has been my handler—and Larry’s for that matter—since 1993. None of you have the security clearance to set foot in the garage if you want to well live or have a life depending. I’m not sure if you’d be killed or just locked up somewhere for the rest of your life.”

 

“WHAT?!” Don bellowed. “You don’t work for—you don’t work for the NSA.”

 

“Yes I do Don. I have since I was fifteen. Mom was aware of the earliest contracts because not only was she my mother she was my lawyer. They wanted me badly enough that they agreed to mom looking at the contracts. I cannot have any medication stronger than Tylenol without an NSA agent present.”

 

“No, no that is not possible and—Edgerton put the gun down. You can’t have anything so high clearance in there that Ian was in there. What is Ian doing here and—You really think you can get away with putting a gun to my brother’s girlfriend? I am going to have your job Edgerton.”

 

“She’s not his girlfriend. I have the clearance to be in there. I also have the degrees to make me actually useful to be in there. Bachelors in both Business and Economics and very close to a Masters in Business. Probably finish that up and my Economics masters when my twenty are up next year. Thanks to a couple really good injuries, I’ve gotten classwork done for both while I was laid up. I have the clearance and I have solid enough basic math skills to not be a hindrance.”

 

“You’re Charlie’s husband,” Amita whispered, pale and shaking though Charlie couldn’t quite say the pale and shaking was entirely from the gun pressed to her forehead

 

“Yeah, I am. Married a year and a half, two years come the first of December. Together depends how you count it. Sixteen since we first got together, eleven since we were totally committed and you are an idiot for listening to that jackass. You’re supposedly smart enough you should have gotten the hint of not interested a long time ago.”

 

“CHARLIE YOU’RE NOT GAY!”

 

“You’re trying to cause a national security incident over your brother liking dick? I have not had enough sleep for this level of stupidity. I thought Charlie and Ian were exaggerating.” Baz growled his own gun produced and pointed at Don. “I have gotten forty five minutes sleep in the past thirty six hours and you just destroyed my chance for a couple hours more being an idiot. And why are they with you? You showing up to be an idiot is one thing, but you brought a grad student and two more FBI Agents with you for back up to be an asshole?”

 

“Baz,” Charlie sighed.

 

“Larry, Charlie is not gay!”

 

“Well, no I wouldn’t say he’s homosexual. Bisexual, or maybe pansexual might be better, but he’s been in love with Ian since he was seventeen.”

 

Charlie groaned. 

 

“You take your brother and the rest inside…”

 

“Don, Charlie! What what is going on!”

 

Charlie didn’t bother to stifle the groan as his father and another man came around the house to the nice scene at the garage door. Baz’s gun trained on Don and Ian’s still pressed right against Amita’s forehead.

 

“Agent Eppes is a fucking moron is what’s going on,” Baz snarled.

 

“You have a migraine, Sebastian? You should be resting.” Larry frowned.

 

“National Security concerns in the garage, idiots in the yard. I can’t sleep,” Baz growled.

 

“Shit. Where are your meds, Brett? And who is your emergency relief?” Ian demanded.

 

“Deck is the one I’d rather have,” Baz sighed.

 

“I can call Declan. Where are your meds?” Larry frowned. “We’re going to need umbrellas Monday, aren’t we?”

 

Baz gave Larry a baleful glare.

 

“Larry, Call Gannon. Get his ass here. Do you actually have your meds on you, Brett?”

 

“No.”

 

“Have Gannon bring something with him. Charlie, you get everyone in the house, I’ll be in in just a minute. Brett, keep your damn mouth shut. You are an asshole that will cause how much more of a headache for everyone when you have a migraine.”

 

“Can I call from the garage?”

 

“Yes, you were called over here to help. You actually have clearance for this, unlike these assholes…”

 

“BRETT!”

 

Larry managed to maneuver his way into the garage with the three large baker boxes he had. Charlie squeezed between Ian and Baz. “Like this?” he held his fist up at Ian.

 

“Untuck your thumb. You do not tuck your thumb in you’ll break it.” 

 

Charlie made a face, it felt more natural with his thumb tucked inside his fingers when he made a fist but he obeyed turned and punched Don as hard as he could, catching him squarely in the jaw. He was rather smug that Don staggered back stunned but that hurt “Ow…I think I sprained my wrist.” 

 

Ian laughed at him. “That was a very pretty hook, Professor.”

 

Charlie glared. He really did think he jammed his wrist and he could not believe Don. 

 

“No, seriously, that was very nice, really good form.”

 

“I’d agree but I don’t want an explanation of calculating simple body mechanics right now,” Baz mumbled.

 

“You’re both assholes.” Charlie huffed.

 

Ian just smiled at him. “Mr Eppes, could you help Charlie get everyone inside before Agent Brett is forced to give orders everyone is going to regret.”

 

Charlie gave a sigh of relief as his dad grabbed Don by the arm and started marching around the back of the house to the kitchen door. Charlie moved to steer Amita inside. 

 

“Get her a shot of something strong, Charlie.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Charlie steered Amita inside and got her sat down at the dining room table, for the moment ignoring Don’s tantrum at their father in the kitchen. The poor guy who showed up with his dad had stopped just inside the kitchen door and just froze in shock. Charlie didn’t really blame him. David and Terry followed into the dining room.

 

“You’re married to Edgerton?” David asked almost dazed as Charlie went to the liquor cabinet. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a tumbler—it had to be Don’s doing there was whiskey in the house. If their dad drank anything but the odd beer or a bit of wine with dinner it was usually tequila.

 

“I warned you, Don was going to be losing his mind for a couple weeks.” Charlie sighed. He set the glass with a good two shots worth of whiskey down in front of Amita. “Drink this.”

 

“I- I—I don’t like whiskey?” was stammered out almost questioningly.

 

“I have no idea if you like whiskey or not, but drink it anyway.”

“Oh, okay…”

 

“I think I could use some too.” Terry muttered.

 

Charlie frowned at her. “Who drove? David didn’t but…”

 

“Don did.”

 

Charlie sighed. “I’ll pay for a cab for you two.” 

 

He went back to the cabinet and poured two more drinks, handing one to Terry and one to David who looked guilty and worried.

 

“What is with that face, David?”

 

“If—if you were serious you’re an addict you—I this isn’t bothering you I mean—“

 

Charlie rolled his eyes. “You having a drink in front of me is not a problem. I still drink. Couple beers now and then, beer doesn’t touch the numbers. Ian will make me have a couple glasses of wine occasionally to sleep. Doesn’t touch the numbers just makes me groggy enough to ignore them and sleep. Now you have a rock of heroin in front of me I’ll be tearing the place apart for a lighter, a spoon and will not give a damn how dirty the needle I find first might be.”

 

Terry and Amita both stared at him.

 

Charlie wanted to just…kick the wall, or kick them all in the shin. Something. He really didn’t know what. Don’s fit was getting even louder and even with his wrist throbbing Charlie really wanted to punch his brother again.

 

Amita had tears running down her cheeks.

 

Charlie _really_ wanted to punch his brother again.

 

“Amita, I’ve been with, and been in love with Ian, since I was seventeen. The NSA picked him up and questioned him for two weeks after the first time we met and he still stuck around. And the biggest reason why I’ve kept Ian and my personal life well away from my family is having a fit in the kitchen right now. Ian only has a year left until he has his twenty in with the bureau and I will personally destroy Don’s career and anyone else’s if there’s the least suspicion they’re pulling anything that could endanger Ian in the field. Attempting anything aimed at my husband, causing trouble for him or trying to cause problems for our marriage—is going to make an enemy of me, and I will not stop until the person attempting such is destroyed. Stop listening to Don.”

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

 

“You were set up and pushed by the fucking moron who is the primary reason everything has been kept so quiet you didn’t know any better. Past is done and over. Just don’t keep it up.”

 

Don was getting louder and less coherent. Their dad was starting to get plenty loud too. Charlie took a deep breath and rubbed his wrist. He really wanted to punch his brother again.

 

“Edgerton is…kinda scary.” David said as Don started ranting about Ian.

 

“Tell that to Caloy. Ian was holding him when we got married, he woke up enough to complain about tiyuhin not holding him. Ian managed to go visit Drigo and Tamsin not too long after Hazel was born. Tam’s husband Kaelo threatened he was going to cause an international incident kidnapping Ian because Hazel would actually sleep when Ian was holding her.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Ian’s the oldest. His mom’s got Maiza, Drigo, Ranie and claimed Tamsin who is Drigo’s friend. His dad’s got Daniel and Jessica. Maiza and Benigno have five kids, Tamsin and Kaelo have two, Uncle Ian’s everyone’s favorite. Fussy babies automatically passed to him.” And once again, perfect calculation. David and Terry were both staring at him with expressions that could only be called ‘Brain Broken’. Amita sat there well beyond broken brained sipping at the whiskey he’d put in her hand, tears quietly going down her cheeks and shaking, but something, Charlie really couldn’t quantify what, but something made him think if she was anywhere in the vicinity of Don when she got past shaking shock and tears, Don might need to run for his life, especially when the shock and tears were mostly due to Ian’s gun being held to her head.

 

“You planning on adopting?”

 

“I—don’t know. Definitely been thought about,” Charlie said honestly. Ian had thought about it plenty. “Mentioned before but never been where it was feasible until now.” It was feasible, terrifyingly feasible now. His father and Don, however this played out, were well aware of Ian. Ian only had a year left until he had his twenty with the bureau, he could. Even if they put anything in motion tomorrow, it would be a year or three before there was a kid to actually deal with whether they adopted or Ranie carried a baby for them. Either way it would take time, not like poof there’s a kid. Unless Malaya already had paperwork and a half dozen orphans stashed somewhere waiting on the go ahead. That…was a frightening thought. It fell short of terrifying because Malaya wouldn’t be patient enough to wait out them getting their act together, she’d just show up with a half dozen orphans and paperwork and demand they bring her grandkids to visit often. Oh god, he really hoped that idea never occurred to Malaya.

 

Ian had made it to the house…Don’s shouting reached incoherent frothing at the mouth before pained grunts and the thud of a body hitting a wall, then the floor and the clatter of a chair being knocked over. Charlie forgot all about David, Terry and Amita as he hurried back into the kitchen.

 

“Are those Baz’?” Charlie frowned at his brother on the kitchen floor, face down with his hands cuffed behind his back. 

 

“Yeah, Gannon’s about fifteen out, Larry’s sitting in the yard and Brett’s on the phone negotiating and trying not to puke from the migraine. Anything beyond what you got has to be done on site. You and Larry are visible enough, you can say no and not get sucked into it. Brett doesn’t think I’d be able to walk if they got me in the door. I could get clearance, but they’d want to keep me too much. Especially if somehow I meant getting you.”

 

“Then you’re not going.” Charlie said determinedly.

 

“What! Charlie—what are you talking about?” His dad protested

 

“I need to be on site to have full access to the information I need to get the math done. If Ian would be recruited without a choice he is not going with me…to?”

 

Ian shook his head. “Continental US.”

 

“Okay so no big issue on throwing together a bag and hoping the clothes will get by.” Charlie nodded, ignoring the foot Ian had between his brother’s shoulder blades. “Larry and I can get it done without you.”

 

“That mess pissed you off that bad, huh?” Ian snorted.

 

“Yes it did! It’s a _mess_.” Charlie shot back.

 

“Okay, professor.” Ian sighed. “You two will stay exactly where you’re put, do your job and don’t get curious.”

 

“Of course.”

 

Ian gave him a look.

 

“We’ll be fine,” Charlie said quietly. “Not the first job I’ve taken where we’ve gotten the warning you need to keep away at all cost because you’d get sucked into whatever the actual project was.”

 

“True.”

 

“That’s—that’s CHARLIE! Why would he sucked into anything?”

 

“Dad, Ian’s one of the best snipers in the world, so yes especially classified military research, they’d love to get their hands on Ian and keep him. I’d just be the bonus, and Larry would probably be a double bonus since he’d probably follow us.”

 

“Sniper!” his dad gasped shocked more than anything.

 

His dad was ignorable, just shocked, shellshocked and near flailing at Don being handcuffed on the floor and guns pulled on them and…everything yet.

 

Don.

 

Don had Charlie seeing red.

 

“Charlie, c’mon now little professor,” Ian whispered.

 

Charlie dropped to his knees—on Don’s back. Enough force with gravitational pull of his weight to bruise rib, not enough to do more than that, controlled his descent just enough with muscle resistance. Air being knocked from him shut Don up a minute. Charlie grabbed a fistful of Don’s hair and yanked Don’s head up off the floor. 

 

Ian just sighed as Charlie explained the amount of force it would take to break orbital bone—a really good kick would do it. Charlie was sure he was capable of delivering the amount of force to do that. He’d have to go change his shoes, hiking boots would be much better for that than tennis shoes, but it could be done in tennis shoes, he’d rather not deal with the likely jammed toe that would result in wearing tennis shoes though. With hiking boots he could likely deliver the amount of force necessary to break Don’s jaw. 

 

Snapping a neck was a simple manner of angles, speed and torque. Theoretically, Charlie knew exactly how would be optimal with the calculations, actual application might not work quite that way, physical resistance of an object was a variable that could be estimated, but Ian always reminded him that he forgot about emotional and adrenaline responses adding to that so that might take a few attempt to actually accomplish, recalculating as he went. The amount of force necessary to break a rib.

 

“Who let him review a training session?” Declan Gannon’s voice came from the doorway between the kitchen and dining room.

 

“I have no idea.” Ian said bemused.

 

“Eval’ed the training and abilities of the team you went with when mom died.” Charlie said quietly. “Baz let me when mom took the turn for the worse..”

 

“Brett didn’t say anything about needing a pickup team for an issue.”

 

“No pickup team necessary. That’s not an issue, just an idiot that needs a good swift kick in the ass, but I think Charlie scared him into nearly pissing himself so…”

 

“If he attempts to make the _least_ issue or says ONE WORD about my husband, he’s an issue, Declan and deal with him with extreme prejuidice. And the next time anyone has the bright idea to ignore recommendations to put him on suspension pending psych eval because I might get upset? I will get upset, with whatever idiot did that and destroy them. I am _still_ pissed you pulled that shit.”

 

“You weren’t well…”

 

“I was out of my goddamned mind and climbing the walls with DTs. Yes, that doesn’t mean you pull the shit you did. Don should have been put on suspension and evaled at least five times that I’ve found. Shrink and a wake up call might do him some good. He makes one move against my husband, even just running his mouth that could potentially get Ian put in an unecessarily dangerous situation, ruin him with extreme prejuidice. I don’t care how. Is. That. Understood, Declan?”

 

“Charlie,” Ian whispered.

 

Ian was nearly gray. Charlie got back to his feet and gave his brother a good kick to the ribs just out of spite. Don wouldn’t be on the floor in cuffs if he hadn’t attacked Ian first. Charlie didn’t need to know what happened to cause the thudding of bodies earlier to know that. Ian would _never_ make a move like that against Don unless it was containing an attack. Don…Don was stupid enough to attack Ian.

 

Don…

 

Well, Don had shut up. That was good enough for now. Charlie reached for Ian’s arm and pulled himself up, stepping over his brother. Habit had his fingers going for the scar high on Ian’s arm, almost on his shoulder. “No, no way, he does not get to make you a target, he does not get to spew that shit at you. No. I will destroy him if he even thinks of doing it again.”

 

Ian looked at him.

 

“We both knew it was going to come down to this,” Charlie whispered. 

 

Ian just sighed.

 

Charlie marched him back and pressed him up against the wall and kissed Ian softly. “No, I’m not going to tolerate Don throwing that crap at you. I won’t. If I believed in violence I think I would take after Dean with a baseball bat for that bitch.”

 

Ian wrapped his arms around Charlie. “Don’t you dare go cold on me, don’t let Don push you to that…”

 

Charlie leaned into Ian and tried to push the numbers to…anything else. And…it wasn’t much working. “I’m so pissed. So fucking pissed.” Charlie whispered. He wanted to _hurt_ Don so much for attacking Ian. The one attack that Charlie would absolutely not tolerate from his brother—calling Ian a child molester. He would _kill Don barehanded_ if he heard that again. 

 

Malaya had gone to war with Baltazar over the bullshit he started when Ian was more accidentally outed than came out at fourteen. The war hadn’t ended either with Ian going to the states, more turned into a cold war, with Baltazar declaring Ranie a bastard and not his, disinheriting her. He wouldn’t divorce Malaya though, she had proof of his mistress somewhere, and a DNA test would prove he was lying about Ranie, that she was very much Baltazar’s. The clause put in the pre-nup Baltazar would have lost most of his holdings to Malaya, and even if he fought it, he’d lose a fortune in court. Ian had stopped her, demanded she stop fighting Baltazar, let Ian go to his father, for Maiza and Ranie’s sakes. 

 

And then he went straight into Dean and Connie, that bitch…and Charlie _knew_ there was something there, pre-nup that should have been easy enough to get rid of the bitch, at least once Daniel and Jessica were grown. She was still threatening Dean with trying to destroy Ian one way or another if he cut off her credit cards.

 

Baltazar’s instantaneous hatred and Connie’s venom had done more damage than Ian would ever admit. Ian was the first to defend both Malaya and Dean. Ranie and Daniel were _babies_ , and there was no point in speculating whether or not Jessica was Dean’s. By Charlie’s calculations there wasn’t a chance in hell Dean was Jessica’s father, and Ian probably knew it too. Dean and Ian never let on, and Daniel and Jessica never even thought to suspect.

 

“I—I’m not saying I agree with Donny, but if you were seventeen…you have to admit he took advantage—“

 

“BULLSHIT DAD—“

 

“CHARLIE!” Ian shouted interrupting him. “Mama would kick your ass if you pulled yelling at your dad like that and she was still here.”

 

“Bullshit.” Charlie repeated more calmly. “I picked him up in a damned nightclub. Hadn’t shaved in a week, walked up to him and said I had a thousand bucks riding on getting his very fine ass into bed. He did ask if I was old enough for the tequila I had, I told him I was working on my doctorate, what did he think. He had no clue. Until the NSA picked him up and questioned him for two weeks—and then he tracked me down and faced off mom and I guarantee you he would done nothing but agree he was guilty as hell if she tried pressing charges or anything against him. He didn’t touch me again until I was eighteen and pestered him half out of his mind and basically molested him until he gave in, on the condition I date, a lot. He was absolutely insistent on that. And I got pissed enough at that I slept with anything and everything I could until I was twenty two and he finally couldn’t stand it anymore and asked me if I had enough time to be sure I wanted him. I was sure I wanted him when I spotted him across a bar and Marshall bet me I couldn’t get him to sleep with me. Never changed my mind once. He kept arms’ length back and did absolutely everything possible to give me as much time to be sure as I needed. The next one I hear say anything like that I am going to punch—and that includes you, Ian.”

 

“Shh, if you end up back on P vs NP on me when you get home I’m going to be pissed.”

 

Charlie took a deep breath. “I might need a week.”

 

“Uh huh. You should tell them to shove this job.”

 

“No, there’s something there and you know it.”

 

Ian sighed. Charlie knew Ian agreed with that. Even with what he’d seen of the ledger pages they’d printed off. Something was really really wrong with the accounting. And it was simple accounting. _Accounting!_ He was a mathematician not an accountant! That alone was enough of a red flag that.. He couldn’t stand to leave a problem unsolved. Ian knew that. Ian had poured wine down him and burned the work of a few problems Charlie had walked away from and claimed unsolvable but had to finish on his own.

 

“Get Baz his meds and get what you need to pack up the mess in the garage. Nothing in here that needs worried about, Gannon.” Ian said.

 

“If I get you a contact list, you able to handle Ed Hirschbaum. He requested security to go to San Diego Tuesday.”

 

“What’s in San Diego?”

 

“Rodeo. He hasn’t gotten any threats or anything he’s just scared to go by himself.”

 

Ian snorted. “Yeah, I got to go up and get him. Marshall going along too?”

 

“Maybe?”

 

“I was planning on trying to get down there anyway so why not, even if I have to go to Stanford first.”

 

“You were? Why?”

 

“Daniel’s riding Thursday, Ranie’s playing Friday.”

 

“Who?”

 

“My baby brother and middle sister.” Ian answered. Charlie tried to slow the numbers calculating how long the trip to Stanford and back would take, estimating how many times Marshall would complain and Ed twitch.

 

“Ed’s going to flip.”

 

“He managed to get engaged to Bridey Hollister, he’s got to be steadier than you seem to think he is.” Ian smiled.

 

“Mr. Eppes? He’s going to be apologizing all the way down and back.” Charlie pointed out.

 

“He won’t have a chance to much, Marshall will find something to bitch about.”

 

Charlie snorted. That was true. He calculated the odds, rough estimates, he had before. Even the minimal chance had always terrified him. “Talk to Ranie about gambling.”

 

“Gambling?...You lost me on that one.”

 

“Craps.”

 

“You’re insane and are going to drive me even crazier,” Ian managed, sounding as if he’d gotten sucker punched hard enough to knock the breath out of him.

 

“I’m serious.” Charlie insisted.

 

Ian just stared at him. 

 

“Be over a year before she can even think about it anyway. From there, yeah, crapshoot does sum it up if anything works out. I’m serious,” Charlie said quietly. He pressed a kiss against Ian’s lips.

 

Ian took a shaky breath. ”I’ll mention it to her and we can talk when you get home. Gannon, I’m going to need the key to Brett’s cuffs.”

 

“I need to grab a bag,”

 

“No, everything will be provided, Professor. Garage is loaded now.”

 

“Keys.” Ian insisted.

 

Declan uncuffed Don himself, evidently his key working just as well as Baz’ would have.

 

“Amita David and Terry need rides home.”

 

“I’ll take care of them, Professor,” Ian murmured. “Don’t you dare—“

 

“I won’t. I might spend a week on P vs. NP when I get back, but I won’t. You’ll be here?”

 

“Try to be.”

 

Charlie kissed Ian soundly. “I’m sorry—“

 

“Don’t be. Got a job. Gannon, you damn well make sure Cal Sci is informed!”

 

“My lesson plans…”

 

“I’ll find them—Ramanujan good to teach the class?”

 

“Yes, it’s math for dummies, basics. You’re qualified to teach it just lacking a teaching certificate.”

 

“Have one for the FBI, but I am not going to see if that could transfer over to the State of California and teaching Math for Dummies.”

 

Charlie grinned. Calculating just how much _more_ this job likely was when a phone call from Baz had Gannon here that fast and a team already not only in the garage but had it emptied. If everything up to and including clothes were provided on site… this was big. 

 

“Yeah.” Ian murmured with a nod, eyes locked on Charlie’s. Ian knew it was big too. “Be careful, keep your head down and don’t be curious.”

 

“I won’t. And you can thank your grandfather for that. He’s the one that scared it into Larry how to keep out of a permanent lab. Larry’s drilled it into Ed, Marshall and me.” Charlie sighed and leaned into Ian again. “Didn’t mean to leave you dealing with the clean up of Don’s fit.”

 

“Job. I know how it goes. Don’t worry about it, concentrate on getting this done and getting home.”

 

“Transport is ready, Dr. Eppes.”

 

“Go on.” Ian said.

 

“See you soon,”

 

“Better.”


	13. Alan, June 2005

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First part of 'Epilogue' or second act or however you want to look at it. 1 possibly 2 more parts to go/

Alan Eppes stared trying to comprehend what had just taken place in the last hour or so. He’d invited Richard back to the house for breakfast since he hadn’t been up to facing the day at home alone, on what would have been his and his partner’s thirtieth anniversary. Richard had only showed up to the support group once, Alan’s second time actually going. Alan had been clear in the back uncertain if he wanted to really be there or not, Richard had too and bolted half way through. Alan had followed him out and struck up a conversation. That had turned into golfing every third week and coffee at least once a week.

 

Alan told the boys he went to the grief group when he went out to meet Richard. Too many barracudas in the two meetings that Alan had actually gone to looking for their next husband, well, just three, but that was three too many. Charlie’s insistence he do something, get out of the house and keep busy, that Margaret would have wanted it had been heard and picked up by Don. So…he let them think he was going to the support group and sometimes just went and visited Margaret’s grave or wandered around a museum or gallery. He hadn’t thought the boys would understand, or do anything but worry. Now, he had to revise that, Charlie just might understand.

 

Donny…

 

The scene he’d come home to, intending on brunch and looking through the paper or perhaps even go online to see what there might be interesting to do that day around the city to keep Richard company and keep him busy.

 

“This wasn’t the distraction for the day I had in mind,” Alan said a bit numbly to Richard as Donny started shouting at…Ian, yes, Charlie had said Ian..Donny was shouting at Ian again.

 

“Get the hell out of my house before I have you arrested for trespassing, Eppes, and don’t come back until you got your head on straight.”

 

“Your house! This is dad’s house…”

 

“Alan sold it. Charlie and I bought it. My name’s on the goddamn deed, it’s my house as much as Charlie’s.”

 

“You—your house? Married? You—“

 

“We lived together in Stanford. When Mama got sick, the entire reason for keeping everything quiet was _you going off stupid_.”

 

“MAMA! WHO—“

 

“You—“

 

Donny started ranting again. Alan flinched as Ian grabbed him, twisted Donny’s arm behind his back and slammed him against the wall. Ian had known Margaret well…Charlie had gotten him out of the house when Ian visited her when she was ill.

 

 _”I love you too, sweetheart, be careful,”_ Margaret had said ending a phone call when she’d been ill, just before she took the turn for the worse. She didn’t tend to call Donny anything but Don. Donny had kicked up a fuss over that when he’d been eight over sweetheart or darling or any such, had kicked up a second fuss at about fifteen about ‘Donny’. Charlie had been the one she’d always called sweetie or baby or what have you. A young man she’d met when Charlie was at Princeton, and become like a son to her, she wished Alan could meet him, he’d like Ian as much as she did. Ian was as stubborn as Charlie though, and what he knew of Alan he was afraid that Alan would disapprove too much of his career and choices.

 

When she took the turn for the worse, she worried and fussed, demanded promises from him. That he would be okay, that he would live not just exist. She worried for Donny. Donny so much more than Charlie. That hadn’t made any sense to Alan. Charlie could get so lost in numbers he wouldn’t notice a bomb going off next to him. Donny’s job terrified Alan. But Charlie? _Charlie_ terrified Alan. The numbers, the math, how Charlie just got lost…

 

“Donny! Just go! I will not stand for you attacking your brother’s husband—in your brother’s house. Go!”

 

Donny stormed out of the house.

 

“Sir, why don’t you sit down…you’re looking a bit shaky,” Charlie’s husband said, somehow suddenly across the room and cautiously taking Alan’s arm, steering him to sit at the kitchen table.

 

“Alan, my name’s Alan. And yours is Ian?”

 

“Yessir, Ian Edgerton.”

 

“Your mother took over the kitchen, after Margaret’s funeral.”

 

“I knew Ina and Dad had come for it but…that doesn’t surprise me. Ina is a bit of a bulldozer.”

 

“Ina, is that your mother’s name or does it mean mom.”

 

“Ina means mother. Ina’s name is Malaya Mercado. Dad’s is Dean Edgerton.”

 

Alan stared at the man. His son in law. Well, Charlie’s husband was…very fit. Wearing nothing but a ratty old pair of Charlie’s sweat pants that was obvious. Lean and honed, he could probably grace fitness or sports magazine covers with the smattering of hair on his chest that trailed down his belly into the sweats waxed or shaved, except for the scars. There weren’t that many but they were terrifying for the simple fact it was his son in law, Charlie’s husband, with those scars.

 

“That’s important how? Charlie kept touching that one…” Alan blurted pointing at the scar high on Ian’s arm, almost on his shoulder. Ian stared at him a second then shook his head slightly with a smile. Alan realized just what he’d demanded. “I’m sorry I—“

 

Ian chuckled. “It’s fine. I have no problem answering what I can, some things I won’t either for clearance sake or if its Charlie’s to tell or not. It’s just amusing that one gets all the attention. It was a graze that wasn’t even deep enough to need stitches, nothing more than a particularly nasty scrape in all honesty, but it was the first fresh scar Charlie ever had to deal with. I had a few, mostly from an IED in Iraq when I was still in the Army, but that was the first new one he had to deal with.”

 

“Richard, sit, sit please…” Alan said.

 

“I should—“

 

“No, stay. You wanted a distraction today, well, you can’t say I didn’t provide one! Excitement too. NSA agents, FBI agents, guns, a bit of a brawl and some mathematical equations for fatal injury and even eye candy thrown in. Even I have to admit my son in law is very fit.”

 

Richard sat, his expression a bit shocky and disbelieving. 

 

Ian blushed, shaking his head a little and huffed out. “Thought Charlie got the blunt from Mama, has to be a good dose from you too, at least the blurting part of it.”

 

“Donny…” Alan sighed. What they were going to do with Charlie, about Charlie…that was second nature that was the thought that had colored _everything_ since Charlie was born, at least for Alan. He worried about both his boys, but Charlie was the one who got so lost in the numbers he nearly had psychotic breaks from sleep dep and had dropped from dehydration and starvation more than once because he couldn’t get out of the numbers when he was five, six, seven years old. Charlie’s genius was more curse than blessing in Alan’s opinion. The numbers _consumed_ Charlie as a child, and Alan still lived with the constant fear of that happening again. What to do about Donny…Alan hadn’t expected needing to worry about that when the boys were in their thirties.

 

“Don doesn’t do very well with his world view shaken up, especially when it comes to Charlie. Not your fault. Don—we tangled last week in his office over the sniper case. Pointing out where he was screwing up—and I’m a training officer, I run at least one class at Quantico every year, and I was Don’s training officer in Fugitive retrieval. Pointed out where Don was screwing up, where his people were sloppy, he starts a rant about Charlie. More to it than that and enough of it pertaining to the case even if it got derailed to ranting about Charlie several times. Don doesn’t have the slightest clue who Charlie is. His entire view of Charlie is stuck on the toddler that started screaming and beating his head on the wall at about a year old. When language kicked off for any other kid, the numbers kicked off for Charlie and he couldn’t get them out. Don is stuck on that for how Charlie functions and who Charlie is. Nothing’s going to change until Don actually figures out who Charlie is. Charlie’s busted his butt trying everything he could think of to get that through Don’s head for your sake. I trained Don for almost ten months. He’s bright, he’s got the potential to be one of the best the bureau has. He just…shoots himself in the foot a lot trying to prove he’s right and gets even worse about it when he knows he’s wrong.”

 

“Donny’s always been like that.” Alan sighed.

 

“Either one of you up to road tripping this week? I might wring Marshall’s neck if he’s along and whines.”

 

Alan stared.

 

“Go up to get at least Hirschbaum, probably Marshall too, head down to San Diego. Rodeo’s Wednesday and Thursday. Most of the stock should be there by Tuesday to give a bit of time to recover from the travel. Ranie’s got a show Friday. Get those two delivered back up to Stanford and then home. No hurry getting up there or back if you had any detours you wanted to take.”

 

“A road trip,” Alan said slowly, grin spreading across his face. A road trip would be a good way to get to know his son in law, and Richard could use a change of scenery as much as Alan himself “What do you say, Richard? I haven’t just picked up and headed off on a road trip since I was younger than the boys. Summer between my sophomore and junior years of college…”

 

“I can’t leave Aunt Elanore that long.” Richard frowned. “And I’d hardly want to impose bringing her along…”

 

“Why not? Medical reason she can’t travel?”

 

“Well…no, she’s…actually quite spry just a bit difficult at times.”

 

“You haven’t met Marshall yet. A bit difficult is a good day and he can’t get away with claiming his age, he’s only thirty-five.” Ian grinned. “If she’s up for the trip, you’re both welcome to come along.”

~*~

It took an hour to get out of the house. David, Terry and Amita sent on their way by cab, and Amita volunteering to swing by and feed the koi in the back and pick the paper up off the front porch and Ian wasn’t to worry she knew where the lesson plans were, Charlie was always absolutely meticulous with that just in case of an unplanned government contract that pulled him out of the classroom.

 

Ian called Marshall, who was going and got the Hirschbaum fella’s number from Marshall and called him. If Ian was going, Marshall figured he might as well. The most of any of that was calming Dr. Hirschbaum down that Ian wasn’t upset over being called ‘Mr Eppes’

 

Richard’s late partner’s Aunt thought a road trip was a grand idea and swore like a sailor at Richard, Alan and Ian that the silly boys thought she couldn’t manage on her own for a week or so. She might be ninety-two but she could run circles around plenty of sixty year olds!

 

Ian managed to get, Alan assumed rent, a twelve passenger SUV that had been dropped off at the house sometime in that first hour after a quick call. It was probably something more along the lines of what movie stars would drive or be driven around in than a normal SUV according to Aunt Elanore who might have agreed to go just ride in such a ‘fancy ass damned thing’. It took forty five minutes to get the nice girl next door to agree to watch the house and water the garden in back and she wasn’t going without Ziggy and Pepper. Ziggy being her mastiff, Pepper being a homeless boy who used to sleep in the park across the street from the church she played bingo at, these days he camped in her back yard often enough. He wouldn’t sleep in the house, or even the garage. She managed to get him inside to shower at least once a week making up jobs he could do for use of the shower and he was convinced Richard had to be the worst nephew ever because she always had too much when Richard didn’t show up for dinner on nights he said he would—which coincidentally were nights Pepper ended up in her yard, so Richard could just deal with being a bad nephew.

 

Ziggy was easier to convince to get in the SUV than Pepper, who had to be ran down by Ian, the boy had been in the garden weeding and when he’d knocked on the kitchen door saying he was done bolted in a panic when Richard opened it. Pepper was a scrawny little fellow, he claimed nineteen, Alan didn’t think he was the only one who doubted that entirely. Fifteen or sixteen seemed more likely, and his English was marginal. Aunt Elanore was delighted Ian spoke Spanish. The kid was absolutely terrified but had been convinced to leave his gear in Aunt Elanore’s house and go with them. Poor boy looked like he expected to be going to his execution but shyly took Aunt Elanore’s hand when she held it out to him and let Ziggy sort of herd him into the SUV. 

 

Ziggy was all for a car ride, but the elderly mastiff needed a bit of help in and out of the SUV. Ian was going to get a work out with that. The dog weighed nearly two hundred pounds! Alan had to admit he wasn’t going to be much help with Ziggy, not if he wanted to actually make the trip rather than be laid up with a herniated disk, and Richard wasn’t likely to be any more help than Alan. And Ziggy was easily two of Pepper so the boy wasn’t likely to be much help either.

~*~

Alan sank into the easy chair in the living room exhausted, he felt guilty about Ian unloading the last of the items in the van on his own but not enough to move. Ian just chuckled, detoured back to the kitchen, grabbed Alan a beer and then headed back out to get the rest of the _stuff_ accumulated. Alan didn’t remember so much being necessary on a road trip before. DVDs and CDs had been bought for music, and movies in the SUV. The thing had _two_ DVD players. Somehow or another three MP3 players had been purchased—those had been a godsend because Marshall just didn’t shut up. Pepper refused to keep one and had set to mowing Aunt Elanore’s yard the minute they stopped to drop off Aunt Elanore, Ziggy, who was probably the most worn out of them all, and Pepper.

 

Richard had claimed Pepper for the next day, planning on picking Pepper up from Aunt Elanore’s and having him mow at Richard’s and help clean out the garage and figure out a place in the yard for the young stray that had ended up traveling from San Diego to Stanford and back to Pasadena. Ziggy, and the dog that might still be a puppy, big but its feet seemed too big and it was clumsy as hell, hadn’t been too much an issue at the rodeo, they’d relaxed in Bridey Hollister’s air conditioned camper then, and when they’d gone to the concert that Ian’s little sister put on, well, the dogs had been gotten brand new cedar pillow beds, water and food dishes and spent the concert in a dressing room being cooed at and brushed by a couple assistants. (The dog stuff had been unloaded with the dogs at Aunt Elanore and Richard’s respectively the maybe still-a-pup was now named Rodeo and seemed to have claimed Richard).

 

They hit a few flea markets and farmer’s markets. Not mention the second hand store they even got out of Los Angeles County that Ian had marched Pepper in and gotten the boy two duffel bags and clothes to fill them, including a like new pair of tennis shoes. There’d been a stops at a dollar store and a pharmacy as well, Ian hauling the boy in while Alan, Richard and Aunt Elanore waited in the SUV with Ziggy. Pepper had gotten socks and underwear at the dollar store. Alan wasn’t sure what was all gotten at the pharmacy but didn’t ask. The windows needed stained again, Pepper was supposed to be over in two days to help with that, work off what Ian bought for him.

 

Detours had also included Redwood National Forest and a couple wineries after they had returned Ed Hirschbaum and Marshall to Stanford. Alan had come home with two cases of wine, Ian another two, Richard had gotten himself one as had Aunt Elanore. It had turned into quite the adventure. Alan hadn’t been to a big concert in years, neither had Richard, Aunt Elanore and Pepper not at all. Honestly it might have been a first for Ed Hirschbaum as well. They certainly hadn’t quite expected the spectacle of a reigning pop diva’s stadium show when Ian mentioned his sister ‘had a show’.

 

As far as road trips went, it had been a good one. An especially good one for such an impromptu trip. He liked Ian. Ian was a bit stiff and standoffish, very reserved and wary, but still game for whatever the rest of them had wanted to detour to see. Ian’s brother and sister both seemed to adore him, thrilled to see him and hung on him as much as they could get away with. The rodeo had been interesting, Alan had never been to one before. Surprisingly Ed and Marshall had, and there was a rodeo and a physics conference involved in the trip that Charlie and Ian had gotten married on—and Ed had met his fiance Bridey on and wasn’t that an odd couple. 

 

Daniel Edgerton and Ranie Andrada both asked after Charlie and had messages to pass along. They knew Charlie well by what they said. That hurt. Especially when Alan was just now meeting Ian.

 

The road trip had been an absolutely inspired idea. Especially with Richard, Aunt Elanore and Pepper, even Ziggy and then Rodeo along for the entirety of it. Ed and Marshall for most of it. A road trip might sound like the worst way possible to get to know his son-in-law, but in this case it worked. Aunt Elanore had commented on Ian’s patience with Ed and Marshall and how side tracked they got, Marshall tended to whine and bitch when he wasn’t carrying on about math and some equation Charlie couldn’t possibly be right about. Ed was quiet, reserved to the point of anti-social and the only thing that seemed to get him drawn into a conversation was physics and then he stuttered and eyes darted nervously around. Ian had warned them Ed didn’t do people well outside a classroom, that was something of an understatement. Still, Ian’s answer for coping with Ed and Marshall was ‘sixteen years of Larry and Charlie’.

 

Sixteen years of Larry and Charlie had Ian vaguely able to keep up with the math and physics the two doctors spouted. Had him well versed in academia and various conferences, projects and papers going on or circulating about. Had him asking about a conference in Chicago in September and another in Boston in November. It was very jarring how much a part of Charlie’s life Ian was, which of course he was or should be as Charlie’s husband, but so much a part of Charlie’s life and Alan had never realized he even existed.

 

Margaret had known. Margaret had all but drawn him pictures looking back. Hints and comments, she’d even flat out spoke of Ian a couple times, though not as more than a friend of Charlie’s. She’d told him as much as she could get away with without betraying Charlie’s confidences. Mother-son privilege was more iron clad than lawyer-client privilege with Margaret.

 

“Ready for another?”

 

Alan startled, pulled out of his musings by Ian’s question and the beer bottle held out in front of his face. The one in his hand was empty and the TV program had changed. “Thank you. I don’t remember vacation being quite this exhausting, not even when the boys were little.”

 

“Two dogs, two scientists, a teenager and one very outspoken and far too curious elderly woman. I’ll take a couple kids under five any day. They’re easier to herd, and you can just pick them up when they’re trying to wander off.”

 

Alan chuckled. “Did you get everything—“

 

“Yeah, your duffel and stuff you bought are sat inside the door of your room, other than the wine and food stuff.”

 

“I don’t remember a road trip really requiring much more than a cooler of beer, maybe some sandwiches and a few joints. Change of clothes optional.”

 

Ian made a choked sound at that, shaking his head with a smile. “Difference between college and civilization.”

 

“Yes, that is a point.” Alan agreed. “You don’t think Pepper is actually nineteen, do you?”

 

Ian shook his head. “Fifteen at best. Kid barely has two whiskers to call peach fuzz on his lip. Got him a few razors, showed him how to use them the first night. Clean shaven is going to look older than whispy bits of peach fuzz screaming he’s a baby yet. He’s too hardened and wary to come across as fresh meat even if he’s clean shaven.”

 

“Do you think…should someone call Social Services or…”

 

“Nope. Do more harm than good. He’s accepting a bit of help now, undo that and the kid will be long gone the minute someone blinks in whatever group home or whatever, and all things considered he might be stuck in juvenile detention rather than a group home if they can’t prove he’s a citizen somehow.”

 

“Seems like should do _something_ ,”

 

“He’s mowing a couple yards for food and at least a safe enough place to sleep on the porch. He’s going to be over here staining window sills to work off shoes that fit and some new clothes. Figure a good portion of the clothes he might sell or trade somewhere along the line but he’s got spare to be able to do that and places to stash the spare stuff, be it out back here, or Elanore or Richard’s garages.”

 

“He should be in school.”

 

“He speaks Spanish with a New York Puerto Rican accent and I’m willing to bet his English is better than his Spanish, he can read English—caught him doing it. Kid ran from something he doesn’t want to find him. If he’s still coming around in three years, then get on the school stuff. Be old enough he won’t be sent back to what he ran from or stuck in the system then.”

 

“New York? Really.”

 

Ian nodded and shook his head with a half-smile. “He had trouble with my accent in Spanish. Don’t hear the Philippines too much in my English, trained that out over the years but in Spanish you can.”

 

“You—I’m surprised you don’t have a Texas accent like your brother…”

 

“I lived with ina until I was fifteen, raised in the Philippines. English wasn’t optional as far as ina was concerned, she made sure I was fluent from the cradle, but I didn’t set foot on the continental US until I was fifteen.”

 

“If he can speak English…”

 

“Safer. Let things slip if you think he doesn’t understand. Push and the kid will bolt. Elanore’s got exactly the right idea dealing with him.”

 

Alan nodded, Ian was saying no more than what Alan had thought himself, just it seemed like there should be _something_ else that could be done. As much as he was concerned about the boy, that wasn’t what he wanted to ask about. Charlie’s words playing in his mind, bits and pieces soaking in over the last week and a half. The road trip had been good for an excuse, for time to get his thoughts in order, or try to after the chaos of the morning Charlie took off with Larry and NSA agents and Don had such a fit.

 

“Charlie…Charlie said something about DTs.”

 

Ian took a shaky breath and slammed back nearly half his own beer. Cold settled in Alan’s stomach at that reaction. 

 

“Charlie’s an addict. He’s been clean about five years. It was a project, private project not government work, the year he took the sabbatical from Stanford, year I was training Don. Couple years before Mama got sick. It…Most of it doesn’t amount to anything you need to know, or Charlie would want you to know, but it was…bad. Really bad. The most terrifying thing I’ve ever heard Charlie say was when he was still wasted out of his mind when we first took him to detox. That cocaine made the numbers sharper and clearer, and the pills and especially opiates made the numbers stop and go away. Couldn’t take him anywhere that would actually have the facilities to deal with medical complications because of security issues. It was me and the one agent here the other morning--Sebastian Brett. The two of us were on our own with him. That was why Don’s training was cut short. The national security level job I had to take off for was—getting Charlie cleaned up.”

 

The cold in his stomach spread, wrapping painfully around his heart, snaking out and sinking into his bones. Neither of the boys had ever done anything half-measure. They went all out, good or bad. How pale and pained Ian looked at just the memories and saying that much, Alan really didn’t want to know. Didn’t think he could stand to know. Charlie, more what the numbers pushed Charlie to than Charlie himself, but still Charlie…Charlie had always been terrifying. He’d feared more for Charlie than Don, even after Don joined the FBI. The risks Don took would drive Alan crazy if he dwelled too much on them but they were external, could be minimized, not gone into blindly. Charlie…there was nothing between Charlie and the numbers. Nothing that could minimize the numbers and what they could do except Charlie himself. Charlie had gotten better about fighting the numbers, but the little boy pushed so far, physically ill and mentally unraveled was what Alan saw, what Alan feared.

 

The last couple years, Charlie home even under the circumstances, first with Margaret ill and then gone. Charlie home had been a revelation. That brilliance and the numbers still there, still made Alan’s blood run cold with sheer terror at what that brilliance and the numbers cost his son, the toll they took on him.

 

Charlie’s academic accomplishments were far more than what most his age might have in terms of publication, in projects he’d assisted with. That made Alan frightened and more than a little sick when he dwelled on it, far more so than proud. Of course he was proud of his son, but the sheer amount of Charlie’s accomplishments was proof the numbers were still as relentless as ever.

 

Don’s obsession with settling Charlie down with Amita. Alan hadn’t looked too much at that. He’d aided and abetted it a bit, thinking Amita might temper a bit of Charlie’s intensity, be a reason to force the numbers away. And he had to admit, grandchildren would be nice. Ian didn’t give Charlie a reason to ignore the numbers or, well, tame Charlie at all. Charlie was quite a handful, stubborn and single minded even without the numbers pushing. Don was too for that matter. A lot of their mother in them. Nothing had ever stopped Margaret once she made up her mind, and Alan was thankful for that, especially when it came to Charlie and her relentless insistence on Princeton for him.

 

Ian’s pocket began ringing. He answered his phone with a sharp cold “Edgerton” that suited the man who had held a gun to Amita’s head without a blink. Sharp reminder of that, after a week and a half impromptu vacation. Ian had been reserved, but approachable and endlessly patient. He stood and walked off into the kitchen without any acknowledgement to Alan, face closed off and carved of stone.

 

His son in law was just a little scary, yes, but Alan couldn’t doubt how much he loved Charlie. And Ian certainly had seen what the numbers could do, the toll they took in the last sixteen years. Seeing Ian, even the bit he’d seen the two of them—more replaying things in his mind rather than at the time of Don’s meltdown that started at the garage and then in the kitchen. Charlie making the threats, or at least explaining the math behind the mechanics of fatal injuries…that and the NSA were, honestly almost less shocking than the drugs Charlie had somehow gotten involved in.

 

None of it was shocking. Not really, just aspects of the numbers Alan had always hoped he’d never see, because those numbers would lead to…well, Alan would have thought a totally number consumed psychopath. That was a terrible thing to even imagine about one’s child, but Charlie had the barrier of the numbers keeping him from interacting in the world like anyone else and the numbers were always _there_ threatening to consume Charlie.

 

“I’ve got to go,” Ian said. “Hopefully be back within a week or so.”

 

“Go? Where?”

 

“Manhunt, Washington State. Keep an eye on the news, I’ll call if it looks like these two are heading south rather than north, don’t trust reporters to be able to tell north from south.”

 

“What—what about the SUV?”

 

Ian dug in his pocket and tossed the keys at Alan. “Move it if it gets in your way, I’ll take care of it when I get back or Charlie can if he’s home first.”

 

“But—the rental company—“

 

“It’s not rented. It’s one of the vehicles that goes with the house here in LA, but Ranie isn’t in town so not a big hurry on getting it back in the garage, your neighborhood is decent enough. I’ve got to grab my gear, cab is going to be here shortly.” Ian darted upstairs toward Charlie’s room, or well, his and Charlie’s room.

 

Alan was intending to ask something, what he wasn’t sure, it escaped entirely as Ian walked back through the house and out the front door with a duffel and a rifle case. He took a long drink of his beer and simply stared. He was shocked. A gun. That... well Donny brought his gun in the house how many times, he was sure Donny’s team were armed occasionally when they’d been in the house. 

 

He looked over at Margaret’s picture by the TV and grumbled, “I’ll get used to it. You know I will. Quit laughing at me.” He’d gotten used to Donny carrying a gun, he’d get used to Ian and his guns too.

 

He got up and headed for the kitchen and another beer. The fridge…well, that needed taken care of. Mostly just emptied straight into the garbage, which he did, making a grocery list as he went. Trash taken out and somehow he ended up sitting in a lawn chair near the koi pond with his fourth beer—maybe fifth but who was counting? He wasn’t.

 

The gasped out startled noise had him nearly spilling his beer, good think he had it drank down, in fact was about ready for another. If he’d had the energy he would have probably been scrubbing the kitchen floor by now, but the week and a half adventure had taken its toll, he was too tired to try to burn off the mess in his head with that. 

 

“Amita!”

 

“I didn’t realize you were back, I came to feed the fish—I have the newspapers in the back seat of my car I—“

 

“Just got home, well, a couple hours ago now…Charlie’s not back.”

 

“No…he’s not. Is, uhm, Ian here?”

 

“No, no he got called to work.” And walked out of the house with a hunting rifle.

 

“Oh…”

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Amita gave him a sad smile but nodded. Alan thought she was lying, at least partially, but it wasn’t going to be a lie for much longer. She was getting there. Where that was exactly Alan didn’t know, he hadn’t quite gotten there himself after the chaotic morning a week and a half ago. The road trip had been good though.

 

“Do you like wine?”

 

Amita stared at him, eyebrows struggling not to shoot straight up to her hairline, the corner of her mouth twitching a bit.

 

Maybe he should have kept better track of how many beers he’d drank.

 

“We ended up making some detours. There was this gorgeous vineyard in Napa Valley we toured and I got two cases. I insist you take a bottle for feeding the koi and keeping an eye on things here.”

 

“That’s not necessary,” she smiled.

 

“I insist!” Alan said pushing up out of the lawn chair, and nearly landed back in it standing up too fast. He definitely should have kept better count of how many beers he had.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“Fine, fine.” He insisted. “Recovering from the road trip might require recovery of its own tomorrow though..”

 

She laughed.

 

“Did you have a good time?”

 

“Honestly yes. I have never been on a road trip that accumulated so much _stuff_ but we had a good time. Aunt Elanore wanted to go again sometime, toward the end of summer. The step stool we bought for Ziggy was a good idea though, just a little plastic one from the dollar store, but it was handy for Ziggy and Aunt Elanore getting in and out of the SUV.”

 

“Ziggy?”

 

“Aunt Elanore’s mastiff. If you figure for dog years, he’s probably older than she is and she’s ninety-two!” Alan chuckled. “Think Marshall had a harder time enduring the noise and crowd of the rodeo and the concert we went to than Aunt Elanore though. Richard found a dog at the rodeo that we ended up taking with us.”

 

He didn’t think he was slurring, or walking all that badly, but the contortions Amita’s forehead was doing trying not to raise her eyebrows made him wonder. He frowned at the boxes containing the wine bottles. Each was a different wine, and for the life of him he couldn’t remember which two he’d bought and which two Ian had. “Moscato? Do you like that?” Margaret had always liked Moscatos. He was almost sure that was one of the boxes he’d bought.

 

“That sounds lovely,” Amita said looking amused.

 

He managed to get the box opened and got her a bottle out. “I appreciate you watching things here, especially after…”

 

“No. It was my pleasure.”

 

Alan frowned at her. “Are you sure you’re okay? Ian…Ian was pretty frightening.”

 

“I was closest. David said that was why, the only reason why. They couldn’t let any of us in the garage and I was closest. It kept Don back. The other man, the NSA agent pulled his gun on Don—that was scarier. Charlie was…Charlie had his hand on Ian’s shoulder. Charlie wouldn’t…he wouldn’t have let that happen, he would have stepped around and gotten in the way and tried to stop it if it wasn’t absolutely necessary that it really was that high of a security issue…”

 

Alan nodded. “I think you just explained some of my own thinking I couldn’t quite put together about all that.” 

 

Charlie wasn’t a violent person, calculating, sometimes so lost in the numbers he was viciously cold blooded completely unintentionally but he wasn’t violent. Honestly, Alan didn’t think Ian was either, though that—he wasn’t sure if he had too much beer to try to sort out that thought or not enough. Charlie was so conscientiously nonviolent—with perhaps a single exception for Don when his big brother earned a punch in the nose or two—that it was simply incomprehensible that he would be with a violent person. At least not a person that committed violence just for the sake of violence. And nothing about Ian said he was someone who _enjoyed_ violence, just for the sake of violence. 

 

“Well, here. And thanks again.”

 

Amita took the bottle thrust at her with a smile. “I should go. You look like you’re ready to turn in even if it is early.”

 

“I am.”

 

He locked up the house and headed upstairs after Amita left. Between the exhaustion and beer, sleep should have came easily. Instead he found himself staring at the picture that he’d pulled off the dresser and taken to bed with him. Margaret in her cap and gown, in possession of a brand spanking new law degree, six months pregnant with Charlie and Donny on her hip grinning just as proudly as his mother.

 

“I should be mad at you.” Alan huffed at the picture. “I’m not, but I should be.”

 

He couldn’t even be mad at Charlie and Ian, not the way Donny had reacted. He hoped Charlie hadn’t thought he’d have reacted like Donny had.

 

“Watch over the boys? All three of them. I’m worried. Charlie isn’t home yet. Ian left for a man hunt. Donny…I’m just too tired to deal with Donny tonight.” He murmured at Margaret’s picture. Enjoying the exhaustion from their impromptu road trip vacation, even with Ian’s disturbing exit and maybe one or two too many beers, tomorrow was soon enough to deal with Donny.


	14. Charlie, June 2005

Charlie fumbled with the keys to unlock the front door. The only good thing, it was Friday. Math for Dummies didn’t have class today, only on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. He at least had a bit of time to get his head back together, to try to forget the implications of what was going on.

 

“Charlie!”

 

“You’re up early.”

 

“I convinced Donny to come over for breakfast before work. He should be here in about an hour. He was wanting to know when you got back, evidently he needs a report from you.”

 

Charlie rolled his eyes. “It was filed by email the night the sniper was caught. After Ian got here, he made sure that got done, I dictated while I was attempting to sort the files I had for the job Baz brought, he typed it up and emailed it to Don, done in all of a half an hour since they’ve been using witness statements rather than official paperwork for me, which doesn’t make the most sense but that’s what it ended up being. I know Baz and Declan called and double checked on that and any signature issue. Yes I have to sign it, but it should be there and shouldn’t have effected closeout of the case, just left on the corner of Don’s desk for that detail before it’s filed in the closed cases. In fact, it shouldn’t even be on Don’s desk. It should be down in records set aside before it’s filed. But…it’s probably on Don’s desk because Don would keep it back.”

 

His dad frowned slightly. “Donny said you hadn’t filed anything at all. Ian hadn’t either.”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “Don…might have just put his career in jeopardy, dad.” 

 

“What?”

 

Charlie pulled out his phone and scrolled through the messages he hadn’t paid much attention to. David saying when he got the message he had to check in about his report on the Crane case. He and Ian were the hold ups for closing it out. Charlie cursed soundly and dialed Sebastian. “Supposedly I never filed a report for the Crane case close out and supposedly Ian didn’t either. Yeah. He’s supposed to be showing up here shortly. He’s got one chance to remember where he mislaid them on his desk if they’re not there. Check please? I’m going to take a shower then start Larry’s numbers. Let me know. Okay.”

 

His dad stared. “Donny wouldn’t…”

 

“Really? Sebastian is going to make some calls. And—even if the reports are found…playing that game and implied holding hostage of reports is not going to look good for Don. He’s…he’s done that a few times. Wanted me to _fix_ things in my report that didn’t reflect the best on him and his team.”

 

His dad frowned. “Did you?”

 

“No. I took them and turned them into records as is. I am not falsifying my reports. I won’t.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Mostly minor things, nothing of any significance for the most part, but I’m still not editing to suit, Don.” Charlie answered. _Mostly_ minor things, technicalities really, of the missed dotted I or crossed t variety but technicalities that could give the right lawyer a way to see someone walk away from charges with a full acquittal on that missed dotted I or crossed t. Nothing that was compromising, nothing that was deliberately done wrong, at least not that Charlie knew, just a little reckless, or a little careless, a little sloppy that blurred up a regulation or two even if the big picture was done right. Sloppy still gave criminals an out though, but it was a little late to worry about that when it was time to worry about report filing and Charlie would not change his even to erase sloppy on a minor technicality that was in all honesty tit for tat bullshit.

 

“No and he shouldn’t ask you too.” 

 

“I…really need a shower. And I need to get Larry’s numbers ran.”

 

“You need some sleep! You look like you haven’t since you left.”

 

Charlie winced and rubbed his hand over his face. He hadn’t slept much. The numbers and the rush to get the job done hadn’t let him. “Not going to be able to sleep today. I’ll have a couple glasses of wine before bed, even if I have to run out later and get some…”

 

“We have wine. We stopped at a couple vineyards…”

 

“Yeah? How was your trip? I saw the SUV, remind me to call Walter to have someone come get it later.”

 

“Walter?”

 

“Runs the house here in Los Angeles.”

 

“Ian’s sister’s?”

 

“Yeah, Ranie’s the one that’s there most often these days.” Charlie said not quite answering that, the mostly because he wasn’t exactly sure if it was one of Ian’s properties or if it was one of Maiza’s. He thought it was Maiza’s but he’d never bothered to clarify that. The apartments in New York and London were Ian’s but Charlie thought the villa in the south of France was actually Maiza’s. The house in Hawaii was Dean’s, inherited from his father who had bought the place during three years stationed there and kept it. Ian or Maiza might technically own a house in Hawai’i somewhere as well. Charlie wasn’t sure. He’d never asked. The time they’d been to Hawai’i had been Dean’s house that he did know. Malaya had bought property in Australia and New Zealand though exactly what and exactly where he wasn’t sure beyond likely the houses Drigo and Roddy and Tamsin and Kaelo lived in were technically rented from Ian now. Or maybe some merger of a realty venture that was both Ian and Maiza’s.

 

“Oh, Ian. He got called off on a manhunt…I’m sorry I—“

 

“Yeah, I know, dad, it’s okay. He sent a text on the way to the airport.” Charlie said. “Your trip?”

 

“It was good. It was really good. We had a good time. Ian took a lot of pictures but—I don’t know what he did with the camera, or how to get them off the camera even if I knew where the camera was.”

 

“It has got to be upstairs. I’ll get it and get the pictures off after I get Larry’s calculations done. Ian’s pretty predictable where he puts things.”

 

“You’ll eat! You need to eat first before you do Larry’s calculations.”

 

Charlie nodded. “I’ll eat. Going to run my stuff upstairs and grab a shower and change.”

 

“Good, good. I—“ His dad looked awkward and unsure and…Charlie decided channeling his inner twelve year old and running was the wisest course of action.

 

“I’ll be back down in about twenty.”

 

His dad nodded and Charlie headed for the stairs before his dad could say another word.

 

The camera and the extra cards were on the dresser. That was a _lot_ of pictures. The note the camera was sitting on read, _You better be reading this. Little Latino kid lurking in the yard belongs there if you see him. Bout fifteen and spooked, don’t let Don chase him off. Please no PvNP. We got wine on the road trip, drink some and get some rest. Be home as soon as I can. I love you, Ian._

 

Charlie smiled at the note. Ian’s handwriting was sharp, almost jagged and written with impatient no nonsense slant and less than military precision of the note said it was written in a hurry. Considering how fast Ian’s exits could be when he got called in on a case, Charlie had to wonder how badly his dad had been rattled by that.

 

Dread settled in his stomach as he heard Don’s car pull into the driveway. He grabbed clothes and headed for the bathroom. Shower wasn’t going to be near long enough to brace for dealing with Don this morning, especially not with the numbers, and the implications of the numbers—even if they were boring accounting audit numbers—from the last couple weeks rioting in his head.

 

He quickly grabbed his laptop and booted it up. Getting into Ian’s work email was simple enough. Charlie knew the passwords necessary. And there it was. Ian emailed a copy of any report filed to himself, Charlie wasn’t sure what the reason for that particular habit was but it was…in existence since the Bureau went to computers and email.

 

He shot off a text to Sebastian.

 

_Have copies of I’s report & mine. Need them emailed? _

 

Almost immediately his phone made a noise. _SEND NOW!_

~*~

The shower really didn’t do anything to clear his head of the numbers or calm down the absolute fury at Don over the ‘accidentally misplaced reports’. Seeing Don in the kitchen had him nearly seeing red. He headed straight for the coffee pot needing the second to try to calm himself, though even he had to admit having something in his hands to possibly throw at his brother.

“So, what’s the excuse for deliberately causing problems with my report and Ian’s.”

 

“Ian never—“

 

“He did. The back up copy is being delivered by an NSA agent who will make sure there are at least four signatures that it is received. And it will be unedited, every last major screw up you and your team made during the Crane case will still be in it. And in the copy of my report being refiled.”

 

Don’s jaw dropped. “No!”

 

“No?” Charlie shook his head. He almost wanted to laugh. “No is your answer? Not even an excuse or trying to lie your way out of the fact you’re deliberately screwing up my career and Ian’s to cover your own ass?”

 

“It’s not like that!”

 

“Then what is it like? Because no matter how I calculate it, nothing adds up but that. And if Crane hadn’t been killed at the plaza, he probably would have walked. And that he would have walked directly due to the mishandling of the case, the crime scenes, even Mrs. Crane—I’m still pissed at that interview, how it was handled—but it all boils down to mishandling of just about everything by you and your team who follow your lead. Sloppy, lazy, paranoid overkill, you ran the gamut on it in the details of the case.”

 

“No! And that’s not the point! Quit parroting Edgerton, he’s got you brainwashed.”

 

“The Crane case gave you a nervous breakdown? Please tell me that’s it, rather than you’re just a delusional asshole and having a tantrum because I dared have a life, a love life, and a husband.”

 

“You’re not gay.”

 

Charlie stared at his brother. “It’s not sleep deprivation making me crazy, is it, dad? I actually heard that?”

 

“Donny…” his dad murmured too stunned to get anything more out.

 

“Are you seriously claiming you destroyed or threw away or whatever you did my report and Ian’s report for the Crane case—to cover your own ass mishandling a crime scene, or your people laughing at _a suspects mother in an interrogation room_. Your lack of thorough investigation into the shootings other than oh these aren’t related before I was brought in the case working on the information that it was all one shooter I assumed multiple shooters had been ruled out, before Ian was brought in on the case and he also under the assumption there was only one shooter…because you have a problem with me being married to a man?”

 

“You’re not gay.”

 

“You’re not in your right mind.”

 

“No, Charlie, you’re not in your right mind. You—that bastard Edgerton has you brainwashed like…Stockholm syndrome or something. Amita—“

“DON’T!” Charlie snarled. “You are unbelievable…I’m not even going to deal with you. I’m continuing my work for the Bureau, I like it. But I’m going to talk to Director Richardson sometime next week and make it clear I will not work on the same cases as you from here on out. Nor will Ian. And in any situation where it is originally your case they’re going to have to make a choice who they want on that particular case more. You or either Ian or I. If you _ever_ open your mouth about Ian again, I will ruin you. You will leave Amita alone because you have pushed and put her in a position she’s nearly ruined her own career before it even started because she listened to you.”

 

“Amita did not—“

 

“She. Did. And caused trouble for mine as well. It has been the most miserable school year I’ve had ever, including when I was in high school!” Charlie shot back. “Just stay out of my life entirely. I won’t deal with this. If you attempt to interfere in my life in anyway—and especially if you even say my husband’s name—I will see to it you are _ruined_. I’m done. I’ve spent the last three years apart from Ian because of YOU! Because there was no way we were going to put mom through the drama of you getting stupid when she was sick. Because Dad was terrifying me how lost he was those first few months and I was scared to death that would be the last straw for him, hell the only reason I actually went to the conference I got married at was you were here on the couch on crutches being a pouting asshole and drinking way too much. Dad was losing his mind over you and lecturing you and wringing his hands. Which was the most alive I’d seen him in months I figured it was safe to leave him because at least he’d be distracted by you being a drunk asshole all over the place.”

 

“You thought Dad was suicidal? You’re insane!”

 

“No, I thought he’d just go to bed one night and not wake up from a broken heart especially if he didn’t have someone around to go through the motions for until it wasn’t just going through the motions!”

 

“That doesn’t even make _sense_ ,” Don glared.

 

Charlie stared at his brother and just shook his head. It wasn’t worth wasting his breath. “I’ll be in the garage, dad. I need to run Larry’s calculations. Come get me when Don leaves.”

 

“You need to eat, Charlie!”

 

Actually he did. It was surprising his stomach wasn’t rumbling aloud. Charlie grabbed himself a plate and dished himself up a pile of hash browns and made two sandwiches out of eggs and toast. “There. I’ve got food. I’ll eat. I promise.”

~*~

When his dad knocked on the garage door six hours later, Charlie’s stomach was rumbling again. Neither he and Larry had eaten much, probably less than they’d slept the last couple weeks. 

 

“Don gone?”

 

“Yes, he just left.” His dad said tiredly. 

 

“Sorry I left you alone to deal with him but—it would have been ugly and irreversible if I’d stayed.” Charlie said. He wasn’t even going to ask why Don had spent most of the day arguing with their father instead of going to work. He was sure the answer would just piss him off to no end and…just escalate everything.

 

“I don’t doubt that,” his dad agreed. The numbers that had already been chasing in circles to the point he wanted to tear his hair out just _exploded_ into nuclear meltdown at how haggard and defeated his dad looked. The physical craving for something to make them _stop_ hit harder than it had since…probably since his mom had taken the turn for the worse and it was obvious they were counting time in days and weeks and Ian was out of contact on a mission.

 

His phone’s vibrating sent his heart to his throat hoping, he had to have sighed as loudly as he was relieved by the look on his dad’s face but the message on his phone was from Ian. _Be home by morning, please by there_

 

_I’m home. I’m fine. So’s Larry. No rush, rather have you late tomorrow than injured rushing. Love you_

 

_Love you. See you by morning_

 

“Everything okay?”

 

“Mmm, Ian will be home by morning. I’m probably not sleeping tonight, not til he’s home. Spend most of tomorrow sleeping.”

 

His dad snorted and gave him a skeptical look.

 

Charlie grinned. “Well yeah, but plenty of sleeping first. Manhunts run Ian ragged. He sleeps less than I do normally on one. So plenty of sleeping first. Possibly even all day sleeping.”

 

His dad shook his head with a chuckle.

 

Charlie’s stomach growled loudly.

 

“Well, I better feed you. What do you want for lunch?”

*

Larry had evidently not been able to sleep much, he was over just as they were sitting down to delivered Chinese. He’d gotten the text from Charlie that his calculations were done and was over like a shot. His dad’s friend Richard and Richard’s Aunt Elanore, as well as Pepper, Ziggy and Rodeo ended up over for Chinese as well…and looking at the pictures taken.

 

“Charles? What is the boy’s name?” Larry murmured when he’d followed Charlie upstairs to ‘help’ gather up the cards from Ian’s camera and Charlie’s laptop.

 

“Pepper.”

 

“Pepper. I thought so, but it seemed as likely as one of the dogs.” 

 

Charlie raised an eyebrow.

 

“Well…it does. My grandmother had a Scottie named Pepper when I was a boy. I wonder if it isn’t Pepe or Pepito and Elanore misheard.”

 

“Could be, could actually be his name or what he was using for whatever reason before Elanore tried taking him in.”

 

“True.” Larry agreed. “Is that box from Malaya with ‘the wedding evidence’ easily in reach? I never have gotten to see what she all sent.”

 

“Truthfully neither have I. Closet shelf…Here.” Charlie shoved his laptop and the baggie of SD cards at Larry on his way to the closet. He got down the ridiculously heavy box Malaya had shipped to him. “Distract dad maybe or will it upset him too much you think?”

 

“I think Alan would enjoy seeing that.”

 

Larry opened his mouth they had the wedding pictures and what not Malaya had sent, after what seemed like an eternity of road trip pictures and stories and contemplating what might be ordered for supper.

His dad, Richard and Elanore all wanted to see the wedding pictures. Pepper didn’t make a sound just hovered as close to Elanore as he could without actually hiding behind her since he’d been ordered to come sit with the people rather than sit on the floor in the corner with the dogs—Ziggy gratefully taking a nap, and Rodeo pouting yet because he was stopped from eating one of the koi when the dogs had been in the yard. Charlie probably would have preferred Rodeo to looking at a stranger’s wedding pictures at the fifteen or so Pepper looked. If he was honest, there was no probably about it, he would have. He still would.

 

The box held a couple dozen DVDs, no less than five photo albums—though the DVDs seemed mostly compilations of Roddy and Drigo’s expiditions than anything else though there was one clearly marked ‘Ian and Charlie Finally Get Married’ a second ‘Wedding Reception’ and a third “Fourth of July at Dean’s and that female creature’s.” which had Charlie laughing.

 

“That female creature?” his dad frowned.

 

“Ian’s stepmother is…a bitch. Ina hates her with a passion.”

 

“You can’t blame Malaya for that. Goodness, Daniel and Jessica despise the woman and she gave birth to them. Surely Dean had a prenup that…”

 

“Ian. That’s the only thing I’ve ever figured out, Maiza, Ranie, Drigo, Roddy, Tamsin, Kaelo Daniel and Jessy all agree that’s the only explanation. That she’s threatened to go after Ian, and no matter she has nothing, enough noise and fuss kicked up it would destroy his career. She’s used Ian as a target of choice since he went to live with Dean when Daniel was a baby.” Charlie doubted it would ruin Ian’s career, not now, but it just might destroy Ian. He sighed and looked at his father. “I meant every word when I said I would destroy Don if he tried anything in Ian’s direction. After Baltazar and that bitch Connie, no way. Don will _pay_ for anything in Ian’s direction.”

 

His dad looked at him almost as if he were a stranger, like he was trying to figure out exactly what to make of Charlie. He probably was. His dad seemed to see the numbers, and how wrecked the numbers left Charlie when he was a little kid. Somewhere along the way he stopped seeing Charlie and just numbers and a baby. Rosauro had been the start of Charlie stopping hating his dad for that, Ian had managed to stop through on Christmas, which as holiday’s went meant little to Charlie but Ian celebrated it and made a point to be with Charlie for it. (It was also totally Ian’s fault for there being video evidence somewhere of a drunken Larry singing Grandma Got Ran Over By a Reindeer) Ian had gotten the call that Maiza had her baby, a healthy little boy—Rosauro that first Christmas. Toasting Rosauro had led to Larry—every bit as Jewish by birth and actually Jewish by faith—singing absurd secular Christmas Carols with Ian.

Aian had done even more on that count, Aian had been five and a half weeks early and had a heart murmur and it was totally bizarre how a baby he’d never laid eyes on half way around the world had Charlie waiting on a phone call, had half remembered prayers he didn’t believe in on the tip of his tongue and chasing through his mind. How terrified he’d been of a call coming saying the worst, and he wouldn’t have just been upset for Ian’s sake, but his own. At that point he’d only met Maiza and Benigno twice. But…the worry over Aian had cut through him.

 

Aian had turned out just fine, only a couple weeks in the hospital, the murmur was watched, but it was the result of not quite fully developed muscle or valve (Charlie honestly forgot which) that had self-corrected and Aian had grown out of by the age of three. Aian had been strong and able to breathe on his own from the first. The something like twelve days he’d spent in the hospital when he was born was mostly precaution, observation and testing especially with the heart murmur, but truly a best case scenario for coming early. Still it had been absolutely terrifying especially the first couple days with the godawful words ‘cautiously optimistic’ being tossed around. 

 

He really couldn’t blame his dad too much for getting wrapped up in how badly the numbers had been when he was small. Not after waiting on phone calls about Aian. He added it to the list of things to calculate, chances of that happening if all went well and Ranie did carry a baby for them, odds of something like what happened with Aian repeating with the baby Ranie had. Larry had everyone well entertained by recounting the exact conversation of Daniel daring them to get married and bellowing they needed a Justice of the Peace to Malaya because the chickenshits were finally getting married.

 

“Whatever is running through that head of yours, Professor, forget it. No driving yourself crazy numbers.”

 

“You’re home!” Charlie gasped at the voice nearly falling out of the dining room chair that had been pulled into the living room twisting to see the owner of the voice—Ian, home hours earlier than expected.

 

“Actually caught an earlier flight, about ten minutes after I sent that text. So what was that math? That was you’re determined to drive yourself crazy calculating look…”

 

“Crapshoots, with a side of Wormholes.”

 

“You borrow way too much trouble worrying.”

 

Charlie got up and moved to Ian. “Your gear?”

 

“Locked in the garage for now. Saw the cars.” Ian smiled. “Elanore, Richard, Pepper, Larry, Alan.”

 

“We’re looking at wedding pictures!” his dad said half accusingly.

 

“It was spur of the moment, at one in the morning or something like that. It wasn’t planned—unless Ina put Daniel up to daring us…which…”

 

“I would not put that past your mother in the least.” Charlie grinned. “The way she goes on about grandchildren I’m waiting on her to show up one day with paperwork and a half dozen orphans saying I picked my grandchildren. They’re yours, and you better bring them to visit often.”

 

“Don’t ever ever say that where anyone can hear you. Maiza and Tamsin would both repeat that when Ina gets harping about more grandchildren and if she gets the idea she just might do that.” Ian laughed.

 

“Ina is kind of terrible like that isn’t she?”

 

“Kind of?”

 

“I thought your mother’s name was Malaya?” Elanore spoke up.

 

“It is. Ina means mother in Tagalog.” Ian answered.

 

“You look like crap.”

 

“Wait, dare, you really got married on a _dare_ , Charlie?”

 

“Yes, seemed fitting since we hooked up on a bet. I won a thousand dollars from Marshall Penfield for picking Ian up and getting him into bed and I ended up getting Ian too.” Charlie grinned. “So fourteen and a half years later his little brother daring us to finally make it official, seemed like the perfect thing to do, didn’t really make any difference other than actually having a marriage license recognized in a handful of states. We already had power of attorney, medical power of attorney, wills, everything drawn up and set out. Provisions for you if something happened to me that you could live in the house rent free for the rest of your life and a trust fund set up for you for medical or what have you if that ever became necessary. A fund set up that—if Don dies with out heirs would go to Maiza and Tamsin’s kids but it’s there in the eventuality Don ever has kids and eventually split between them. A similar trust set up for Maiza’s kids and Tamsin’s, and if ever they ever have kids for Drigo, Daniel and Jessica. Couple scholarship funds and some trusts that do localized donations but that’s administered by whoever survives of the two of us, and –I mean we had everything drawn up and spelled out. It wasn’t like getting married made a difference to anything much for us, other than we actually had a partially valid marriage license to show for it.” His dad’s frown had Charlie getting defensive. “And Dad, don’t even try to buy into that line of crap from Don. Ian’s worth more than I am.”

 

Ian poked him in the side and raised an eyebrow.

 

Charlie glared with all the fury just the thought of Don’s crap set off.

 

Ian sighed. “That good, huh?”

 

“Worse.” Charlie muttered. 

 

“I bought wine, you’re drinking some. Wheels are spinning way too much I want to sleep in a bed, not the couch in the garage while you are at it at the chalkboards.”

 

“He hasn’t slept and you look dead on your feet. You boys go to bed. Larry can point out who is who in the pictures right?”

 

“Yeah, and Larry can give you all his crazy fate theories too.”

 

Larry raised an eyebrow. “Oh ye of so little faith, Charles.”

 

Ian’s hand was over Charlie’s mouth. “Don’t start, Larry. I want to sleep, not referee a three day argument over whether or not Charlie and I count as empirical evidence of _anything_ let alone the f word that sends Charlie into orbit.”

 

Charlie grabbed Ian’s wrist and moved his hand from his mouth. “Let’s get your gear, I don’t like it in the garage even just for the night.”

 

“Neither do I. My gear and a bottle of wine.”

 

Goodnights were painless and far less awkward than they might have been otherwise. Larry had everyone’s attention with some story or another spawned off a picture in one of the albums. “I don’t even want to know,” Ian mumbled.

 

Charlie grinned. No, Ian probably didn’t, and truthfully, he probably didn’t either.

*

“What are you up to, Professor?”

 

“Water conservation,” Charlie grinned as he pulled the shower curtain shut behind him.

 

Ian just laughed. Charlie’s eyes roamed over Ian, a few scrapes and a very spectacular bruise starting at mid-thigh and going up to his rib cage but nothing more. “Pass inspection.”

 

“I suppose. This was bad, wasn’t it?” Charlie sighed reaching and lightly tracing fingertips over Ian’s bruised hip.

 

“Wasn’t good,” Ian shook his head a little. “Nothing broken, just a little dinged up.”

 

Charlie gave Ian an annoyed look. His downplaying of injuries was almost pathological and not any kind of surprise any more. Honestly, it had never been a surprise. Ian was too good at what he did, too good at fading into the background, watching, he avoided attention as a matter of course and being injured got attention. 

 

Ian pulled him closer. Charlie tilted his head up for a kiss, careful of the brusing and scrapes as he pressed close, loving the feel of slick wet skin and hard muscle, of Ian. A kiss with no hint of urgency, no thought to clocks and worry about some interruption carving into the few hours they had managed to sneak away. While Ian would insist he was just fine, Charlie would just as soon have that bruise faded a good bit, didn’t want to risk hurting Ian even just by unavoidably aggravating injury aches, putting too much pressure on a painful looking bruise unintentionally.

Charlie nuzzled at Ian’s neck when the kiss ended. Calloused hands slid over his back. Ian home was all he needed tonight. Hadn’t realized just how much he’d needed it until Ian was in front of him.

 

Ian chuckled softly, “Not made of spun glass, professor.”

 

“I know,” Charlie murmured into Ian’s neck. 

 

“You okay?”

 

Charlie shuddered a little. “Yeah.”

 

“Charlie?”

 

“Big. Scary big. Mind-blowing.” Charlie murmured. 

 

“Good or bad,” Ian ventured.

 

“Both, mostly good, at least good intentions that balance out. Right people in charge at the moment. It could go the other direction but…for now.”

 

“Mmm, so we signing on?”

 

“Just like that.” Charlie shook his head a little.

 

“I trust you, you’re the genius around here, right?”

 

“The most idiotic genius on the planet…isn’t that how it goes?”

 

“Charlie?” Ian asked again.

 

It was tempting. It truly was. “No, I can’t say I’m not tempted but no. You’d have nothing to do but be a body guard or an assassin, and as fascinating as it is, I’m good. I like teaching. I like what I’ve been doing with the FBI. This…where we are is good. And…you talked to Ranie?”

 

“I had your Marshall, Ed, Bridey, your dad, Richard, Elanore and Pepper…”

 

“And…”

 

“I mentioned it when we had a second. Asked if she was still willing at least…she about pounced me and wanted to start rescheduling her tour because it would shut ina up for all three of us. And she thinks I need lots of kids as much as ina does.”

 

Charlie smiled. As far as he knew Malaya didn’t bother breathing a word of having kids to Ranie. Ranie doted on Maiza and Tamsin’s kids, as long as she was never left alone with them, especially when they were under about eight. All other children she avoided like the plague.

 

“You sure?”

 

“About your crapshoot? As sure as I’m getting. About…the other….yeah. I’m already read in—probably end up pulled to run numbers again sometime down the road. I—this is good. School, the FBI…yeah. I’m sure.” He was. He’d get to see pieces of the unbelievable from time to time, arrogant or not, he knew he was one of the best mathematicians on the planet. That he’d already been read in went further than he was in the elite tier in his field. Everything was almost perfect right now, except for Don.

 

Ian turned his head just a little, Charlie moved for another kiss before he reached for the soap. For the first time in three years there wasn’t the desperate edge of knowing they only had a few hours to steal for themselves. 

 

“God I’ve missed this,” Ian sighed.

 

“Me too.” Charlie agreed guiltily. 

“We’re not starting that again.” Ian warned.

 

“Not arguing with being lucky enough for you to put up with me,” Charlie said and stole another kiss.

 

Ian gave him a look that burned through him, but started washing up.

*

“You have pain pills?”

 

Ian shook his head, exhaustion had definitely caught up with him, pain too. He was moving slowly and favoring his bruised side as he moved to settle in the bed. “Figured I’d share some of your wine.”

 

“Works,” Charlie agreed as he opened the bottle. “Baz had to refile our reports from the Crane case. I emailed him the copies.”

 

Ian just sighed and shook his head with a muttered, “Damnit, Don.”

 

Charlie raised an eyebrow at Ian.

 

“Your brother is his own worst enemy,” Ian muttered.

 

“Mmm,” Charlie agreed settling down in the bed next to Ian.

 

“Nightstand got everything?”

 

Charlie obediently checked the drawer and pulled out pencils and a half dozen notebooks to show Ian with a roll of his eyes. “Yes, the nightstand is stocked. You stocked it when you came up for a nap after the Crane case.”

 

“Been way too long since I’ve had an entire night with you. I’d like you here when I wake up, not off chasing the numbers,” Ian said quietly.

 

“I’m going to be here,” Charlie promised closing the nightstand drawer.

 

Ian looked at him worriedly.

 

“I’ll be okay to be here too,” Charlie smiled. “That—accounting job was huge, and boggling, and I’ll probably get tapped for other pieces here and there. I’m read in. I…yeah. It’s something.”

 

“You sure we’re not signing on.”

 

“We’re not signing on. I won’t do that to dad. We’ll…be too far off the grid, months and months at a time. Kids will never happen we sign on. I’m…I’m not changing my mind on that. I like kids. You want them, I—yeah. This is where I want to be. CalSci, come home to you and maybe a kid eventually…This…this is good right?”

 

“It’s perfect,” Ian murmured. “You really going to be able to let the numbers go. I can hear them in your voice, I swear, Charlie. I can _hear_ them.”

 

“They’re big, and they’re right there now. But yeah. I can let them go. I like teaching as much as just working with the numbers. I get both this way with CalSci, and…I’ll probably do a job here and there again.”

 

Ian nodded. “Read in and one of the best, if they can grab you they will.”

 

“As long as it is a clear cut, number check, single short job, I’m going to do it too, but I can walk away from those numbers. I can. I’ve got you, CalSci. This is good, this is what I want. Just because the numbers are big and there at the moment doesn’t change that. I can let them go, not this, and definitely not you.”

 

“You’re stuck with me.” Ian smiled.

 

Charlie leaned and kissed him. “You drink what you need first. I’ll finish it off to get some sleep I promise. I would have anyway, but I was waiting for you to get home.”

 

“You see Don today?”

 

Charlie groaned. “He’s being an idiot, and I had to refile both of our reports for the Crane case. I’m not completely sure but I think Baz is fighting with the bureau at the moment. I don’t care. Don—Don…” he trailed off with a sigh. “I think it was his knee.”

 

“What?”

 

Charlie shook his head.

 

“No what is that supposed to mean?”

 

“Don was headed for the major leagues. He really was. He was that good. Baseball was his math,” Charlie said, numbers cascading down so fast with that he grabbed the bottle of wine he’d handed to Ian and took a few long swallows. “He’s got to figure it out. I’m not letting his stupidity…his problem. Not ours.”

 

Ian didn’t disagree.

 

“Drink. You look like crap, if you won’t take any pain killers at least drink a bit. We both need sleep. I’ll be worrying not sleeping.”

 

Ian huffed and smiled tiredly. “I probably should go sleep on that couch in the garage. You need sleep.”

 

“No, you’re staying right here. We both are,” Charlie insisted.

 

“Good, I like here,” Ian yawned. A few swallows of wine hitting so hard that it was obvious how little he had slept or ate while he was on this last hunt, as if just looking at him didn’t make that clear. 

 

“Me too, now sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RL went more than a little nuts over the summer and concentration went with it. Yes a bit open ended on this and Don not resolved really but Ian and Charlie are exactly where they've been intended to be since this was started, so yes, this is done.


End file.
